The Stolen Rose: A Beauty and the Beast Retelling
by Clara Spencer
Summary: Betrayed by his brother Gregory is forced to live in exile as a beast. With only a slim chance at redemption he all but gives up hope, until he meets someone who just might give him back his humanity, Anne.
1. The Beginning of Things

_So this is the start of a new version of Beauty and the Beast that I'm working on, I've had random ideas for this particular one that I've been building up and saving for a long time until they finally decided to mold themselves together. I hope you like, sorry if it's a little long, please don't skim! _

_One more thing- a lot of different songs influenced me for the writing of this story so I decided to have a song correspond to each chapter, tell me if you like that/whether a song fits or not. The one for this chapter is Jacob's Theme by Howard Shore (from the Eclipse soundtrack) _

**Chapter I: The Beginning of Things**

Once, in a time none but the scholars and scribes of history can still recall, the king and queen of a small northern country ruled over their people. And through the years these leaders where blessed with four sons; each a strong and worthy individual, filled with the potential that fate had bestowed upon them. But though the land was peaceable it was not immune to the disease of war. At first it had seemed like nothing: a mere trickle of easterners –soldiers intermixed with the farmers and passers-by. Soon though, what had been but a splinter in the land became a full- fledged onslaught of trained soldiers, each stronger and more sure of victory than the last. By this time in his life the northern king had reached old age and his bones wearied him so that he could hardly walk up to the battlements to view the oncoming enemy, much less ride out and face them with his men, however much he may have wished it. His two eldest sons- both trained fighters, skilled in the art of warfare- appealed to their allies in the south, bringing back more than enough troops to fight the invading army and together they rode out, willing to struggle tooth and nail to keep their country safe.

The two youngest sons, Richard and Gregory, were made to stay away from the fighting. Gregory, at thirteen, was hardly strong enough to keep aloft a broadsword, much less fight the practiced enemy troops. Richard, on the other hand, was kept at the castle for a different reason entirely. For if anything should happen to his brothers it would be he who would take up the crown after his father's reign had ended. But Richard, like many young people upon entering their prime, felt that if he rode into war he would be untouchable, a god among men, and this foolish confidence made him impetuous. So much so that one night he stole away from his home, and, disguised as a foot soldier, made his way to the front lines. The king and queen upon discovering their son's departure were enraged that he could commit such a foolish deed. But through their anger they saw that there was only one path left for them to take; Gregory, being the fourth child and youngest son must begin learning the ways of a ruler. With his father's health slowly deteriorating Gregory, never being the most scholarly of boys, threw himself into his studies. Almost never leaving the company of his tutors he only paused to take meals, if then.

Four years passed and the war still raged on with no end in sight. Then, one day, a messenger rode into the courtyard to deliver a crushing blow; that which the sovereigns had dreaded most had come to pass: their two eldest sons, who had ridden out in what seemed a lifetime ago, had been killed in battle. The news struck with such intensity that the people began to murmur about surrender but soon the whispers turned from sadness to anger, and a call for vengeance was added onto what seemed to be the ever growing list of ill deeds the enemy had heaped upon their poor land, and the war intensified. Another year passed and the king, knowing that he could not stay in this life much longer called Gregory to his rooms, intending to give him some last parting words of sense and wisdom.

Seeing his son walking towards him the king's heart twisted in grief, for the man who stood at his side was not the boy he remembered- with the mischievous smiles and lighthearted words. This person was thin, almost ragged, looking. Having always been pale his skin now showed evidence of deep circles under the eyes and the king once again silently berated Richard for having so selfishly left the kingdom, throwing to his brother a yolk that should not have been his to bear. Holding out his hand the king grasped Gregory's forearm, and was pleased to see that this man, upon closer inspection, was less thin and ragged then he had first believed. He looked down at his son's hands and saw the thin white scars of practice daggers and swords, as well as the smudges of ink and charcoal. And seeing this the king gave a little smile, knowing that the words he spoke next would indeed be true ones.

"My son, the burden you have carried has been a heavy one to be sure, but I can see that you have carried it better than I could have in your position."

Gregory smiled and his father was glad to see that some of the mischievousness had not yet left his eyes.

"Thank you Father." His son replied. "I've tried my hardest to do so."

The king squeezed his hand by way of answer and took a rattling breath before continuing. "The reason I called you here tonight was to tell you something, something that is in none of the books or grand speeches given to you by your tutors."

Sitting on the edge of the bed Gregory leaned forward to better catch his father's whispered words.

"When you are made king there will be many people who will want from you the impossible. Your job as monarch is not to deny them those expectations, nor hide them away as if they never were, but to see that they become the norm."

"But what if I can't?" Gregory asked, feeling suddenly that all the fears that had been building up inside him for the past five years were suddenly bursting forth. "What if I can't live up to their expectations, I don't know if I'll be able to succeed at this, and what happens then?" he asked in a rush.

The king smiled at his sons protestations. "Then you pretend," he said simply, "pretend you can succeed, pretend they are asking for nothing when in fact they ask of you everything. Pretend until you've done it for so long that what you believe to be true really is."

But the king saw his son's expression was still creased and anxious and he gave him a reassuring smile. "Do not worry about making mistakes, because you will make mistakes. The trick is to never make the same one twice."

...

It was winter when they laid the old king down into the earth. After the body had been put to rest, the ground back in its place, Gregory began to make the slow walk back up to the castle. He stopped short though when he saw his mother a ways away, staring at her garden.

Even the most stubborn of men had to admit that the queen's garden was extraordinary. The crown jewel, some said, of the entire kingdom. Every flower that could grow in the northern land lived in that place. It had been a gift from the king in their early days as man and wife and throughout the years it had flourished. But the one flower that was the queen's favorite and had soon become the unofficial emblem of the country were her roses. Now, roses in general do not care for such cold climates, but through the careful tending of monarch and gardener alike, they had been able to make the delicate plant flourish and it had soon become the prime occupant of that space. The queen fingered one such flower now as her son came to stand beside her.

"We're alone now, you and I." The queen said, sighing a little as she did. "I never thought it would be like this Gregory. We had a plan for you all, things just…fell through along the way."

"It wasn't anything you could have prevented, Mother." Gregory answered, hoping to coax her out of her melancholy thoughts. "It was just the way things turned out."

"At least I still have the roses." She said, a sad smile lifting her lips slightly. "Your father planted them for me you know, when we first met." There was a pause, Gregory watched his mother intently, he'd never heard this story before.

"I asked him why he would even think of planting such fragile things in a place so cold." She continued. "But he told me, 'roses are like people Margaret, they're constantly surprising you. Sometimes the slightest chill will bring them to their knees and they'll need all the help they can get, while at others they'll show you their thorns and fight till the very end.'" She bent down and plucked one of the flowers and placed it gently into the soft black fabric of her son's lapel. "Never underestimate people Gregory, for they're always doing surprising things."

And indeed what the queen had said was true, for it was only a year after Gregory was crowned king of the northern lands and all its inhabitants that the most surprising thing of all took place. Word had come earlier that year from an injured foot soldier that Prince Richard had been stationed at the same camp as himself. When questioned further about this the man confessed that a sickness had run through the men like wildfire over the winter months, and it was very unlikely that the crown prince had survived, but the soldiers information was a tad faulty because on a bright spring day Gregory looked up from the bent and torn war maps he and his generals were poring over to find his brother standing in the doorway of his workroom.

Gregory stood, dumbfounded for a moment before finding his voice. "Richard." He said softly, staring wide-eyed at the person before him.

"Hello, Brother."

The young king walked slowly towards the man, hardly blinking as he stood before him. Richard looked back and gave him a crooked smile.

"It really is you isn't it?" Gregory asked, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Richard was not only alive and well, but here, speaking to him as if no time had passed between them at all.

"Well of course it's me." Richard said with a chuckle. "Who else could it be?"

He had a point there. Gregory thought to himself. Out of all his family Richard had always been the shortest, much to his chagrin, what's more unlike his brothers' dark eyes and hair he had always been fair faced and blue eyed. This was why above all else his father had always good-naturedly called him "our little golden boy". But, Gregory noted as he eyed this man who seemed to be both his brother and a stranger together at once, the passage of time had left its mark; no mistaking it. For one thing there was a hunger about him that Gregory did not think he remembered from their childhood. It wasn't just the way the skin about his face seemed to be stretched across the bones but also something in the eyes: an intensity that, if he were forced to say, reminded him of the wild animals that he and his friends would hunt for sport when the weather was fine, a look that seemed to speak of desperation and hostility. The voice too, had changed, no longer was it the quiet and thoughtful one from years ago, but hoarse, with a ravaged tone that matched the eyes far more than the king liked to admit. Gregory quickly shook himself of these thoughts, what could he possibly be thinking? This was his brother, for goodness sake! The one who had taught him the best times for catching small game and evading his tutors and nurses, so his face had changed, it did not matter. And, he told himself stubbornly, it had all the world to do with just how long they had been apart, never mind the war or what Richard may have seen there. He was determined not to let his own misgivings threaten what should be a well-needed celebratory occasion for the kingdom. So Gregory ignored the doubts in his mind, and moved to embrace his brother, telling himself that he was truly happy to have him home.

The next month was filled with all manner of feasting and dance to mark the arrival of the king's brother, whom people had now taken to calling 'the soldier prince'. For the first few nights Richard had indeed enjoyed himself thoroughly, wine and food were aplenty here and it made his eyes go wide to see it all laid out before him. He may have been a prince, but for a long time now he had lived as the poorest beggar would. The company, too was much better and far kinder on the eyes than any he could remember during his days encamped on the battlefield. Beautiful women seemed to appear from nothing right before his eyes. As soon as one arrived three more would follow, each looking as sweet and enticing as the meals before him. But it would not last.

As the month ended, and with it the celebrations, the court and its king soon fell back into their daily routine of politics and gossip, strategy and intrigue both on the battlefield and off. Richard hardly saw Gregory due to the daily meetings the king held with his counselors and generals in hopes of bringing victory to the country, and with it the end of the war. He hadn't minded very much at first, but it wasn't before long that Richard began to feel a cold stab of jealousy within his breast everytime he caught a glance at his brother. Constantly Gregory would be surrounded by admirers and advisors alike, the man was hardly ever alone and a phrase began to intrude upon Richard's waking thoughts and sleeping dreams, one that would soon become a mantra for coming events. _That should have been me. _

...

Midsummer's Eve opened onto the kingdom bright and clear, and looking out at the rising sun the king's own mood rose to meet that of the translucent blue sky before him. One of the enemy's largest battalions had just suffered a crushing blow from the northern army and news from Gregory's spies were arriving daily with information that would become very profitable very soon. _Soon. _He thought, leaning against a balustrade overlooking the courtyard. Soon the war would be over, soon the country could work to rebuild what had been destroyed. Soon. The word had never seemed to hold such promise.

Unfortunately this same word encircled his brother's thoughts as well; thoughts which over the months had become considerably less favorable towards the new king with each passing hour. Ever since that single prick of jealousy had swept through him the feeling refused to depart and instead spread and infected his mind like a plague. Soon his plan would go into action, the pieces were in place all that was lacking was his consenting word.

...

Standing near the gates of the castle, Gregory finished tightening the straps of his bandolier and lifted himself onto his mount. Surrounded by his retainers and lords of the court as well as a few of the braver ladies they waited, a little impatiently, for the last of their party to arrive.

_He never used to be late_. Gregory thought to himself as Arion, his horse, shifted from side to side in anticipation for the hunt. He couldn't exactly blame the beast, he was just as excited, though he liked to think that he was a bit better at concealing it. The hunt was an event that happened every year during the warm months and served as an opportunity for each man not only to show off their skill with a bow but also to speak with the king about any and all matters that may have escaped his attention otherwise. It was a time for politics as much as it was for sport and Gregory wished to start this, the first of what he was sure would be many hunts, as soon as possible.

_If only Richard would arrive we could proceed!_ Gregory had noticed a change in his brother ever since his arrival and he hoped that today he could learn why the prince had become so introspective and unsettled. A sound to his right caught his attention and there, as if Gregory had called aloud to him, was Richard.

A half smile played on his face as he spoke a hasty apology for his tardiness. Gregory hardly heard the words though, and only gave himself enough time to turn and grin back before leaning forward with the other gentry into a full gallop towards the nearby forest.

_So that's chapter one! I'm truly very excited about this version I'm writing and I hope everyone enjoyed it. Please review or favorite if the mood strikes. OH, and one more thing. Not only did a lot of songs influence my take on Batb but a boat-load of pics did too. I started up a blog on wordpress and if you want to see the images that inspired each chapter you check out here: aworkoffiction . wordpress . com _


	2. Understanding

_A big warm thank you to __Mazkeraide for adding this to your story alerts! The theme for this chapter is __Palladio by Karl Jenkins _

**Chapter II- Understanding**

The party careened through the woods at top speed trying to keep up with the stag. They had been chasing the animal for more than an hour but, darting here and there, he always seemed to be just out of their reach. Pulling up on the reins Gregory let the others ride past him. Standing up in the stirrups he looked around, searching between the trees for his brother. "Richard?" he called out to the empty space.

"Over here!" an answering voice called from a few yards away. The king turned and pushed his horse into a slow trot towards a thicket of trees and found himself in a fairly large clearing of the forest wherein, surrounded by foliage was a blue crystalline pool of water. Turning in a tight circle Gregory surveyed the area trying to find the source of his brother's voice until, finally, he dismounted and walked towards the water looking around him for any sign of life…nothing. He was sure he'd heard Richard's voice coming from this direction, but maybe he'd been wrong. Suddenly hearing footfalls nearby Gregory turned to look. No sooner had he done so than a fist slammed into his head and he fell back into the water.

Blood seeping from his nose the king tried to bring himself up to the surface, before feeling two hands wrap around his jacket and push him further in. Kicking and scrabbling at the fingers that held him they finally pulled him up and out of the water and onto dry land. He lay there for a moment or two, feeling the grass beneath his cheek as he tried to push all the water out of his lungs. Opening his eyes the first thing he saw was the blood mixed together with the mud and rocks. _My blood. _The thought came as though from a distance and he moved to wipe the fluid away from his face before looking up to see Richard standing before him.

"Richard?" he said, still gasping for breath.

Richard gave him a mirthless smile. "Hello Brother."

Gregory tried to stand, his clothing sticking to him uncomfortably, and even though he was now on dry land with the water behind him he still found it hard to breath.

Suddenly a lighter female voice spoke. "Your highness?" it said. They both turned to look. Behind Richard just on the edge of the clearing stood a young girl, no more than sixteen, dressed in common brown homespun wool. Gregory, even after being nearly drowned, noticed how uncommonly pretty she was. Her golden hair, gleaming white in the sunlight, was pulled back away from her face, allowing bright green eyes and pale cheeks to show through. She was small and stood in such a way that made her shrink in upon herself even more. She looked at the two men with her head bowed slightly, staring at them, then away, then back again, as if she didn't know if she should be looking but at the same time quite unable to help herself.

"Ah!" Richard said, striding over to the newcomer and bowing slightly, an action that made the girl stand a little straighter, before kissing her hand lightly. "Punctual as always my dear, I thank you for that."

"Richard, what's going on?" Gregory said. His tone, the one he only ever used on his advisors when they wouldn't give him a straight answer, was loud and commanding.

"All in due time, Brother." Richard said conversationally. "But first," he said, clapping his hands together, "introductions." Motioning for the girl to come forward the prince placed his hand gently onto her shoulder and said, "Gregory, this is Isabelle."

"Will you please…" but Richard cut him off.

"Isabelle, this is His Majesty, King Gregory the Third." Moving away from the prince the girl lowered herself into a small curtsy before straightening up again.

"I don't understand," Gregory said, looking from one face to the other. "What does this have to do with anything?"

"Oh Gregory," Richard said, slowly approaching him. "It has to do with everything."

He was so close now that Gregory could almost see the anger emanating away from him, surrounding them both, but he was still ignorant as to why. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you've stolen something from me," the prince replied casually before reaching towards him and yanking their father's signet ring off of Gregory's hand. Holding it up in front of him, his voice became more vehement and he said, "And I want it back."

Realization finally dawned in Gregory's eyes and for a moment he was struck by such a force of disbelief that he could hardly speak. But at last he found his voice, "That's what all this is about?" he asked, his expression incredulous. "You…you think I've usurped your throne?"

"Not _think_ Gregory," Richard said, condescendingly, before turning away. "_know_."

Throwing out his hand the king grabbed Richard by the arm and forced him to turn around. "How dare you!" Gregory said, spitting out the words in a low voice before shoving the prince away. He moved as if to leave the clearing before turning back and walking towards his brother once more. "How dare you accuse me of this?"

"I accuse you of nothing that you are not guilty of." Richard said, the fury in his voice more obvious with each passing moment.

Visibly trying to restrain himself Gregory answered, "The only thing I am guilty of is trying to maintain this country while you run off in the dead of night to play soldier."

"I see." Richard replied, his voice laced with sarcasm. "So while I'm off fighting for country and crown, _my crown_, you decide to assist by taking on the burdens of the monarchy. Is that it?"

Running a hand over his face Gregory closed his eyes momentarily before continuing. "What was I supposed to do Richard? You left, you left everyone, everything. You left me at thirteen to learn what you had been studying since you were old enough to pick up a book! What did you expect me to do? Sit in a corner twiddling my thumbs together while Father lay dying, the kingdom in shambles? To tell everyone not to worry, that Richard will return soon? I thought you were dead. I thought…"

"You thought wrong."

"Richard, please." Gregory said, holding out his hand towards his brother. "I'm sorry. If there had been another way, if I could have chosen another path I would've taken it, but there wasn't."

Richard's manner softened slightly towards him and he took the proffered hand. In a quieter voice he said, "There is now. Give me back the throne, abdicate, allow me to take my rightful place as king, it will be more than easy."

Gregory removed his hand from Richard's grasp as if he had been burnt by it before slowly shaking his head. "No Richard, I cannot do that."

Richard frowned and, sounding almost frantic, said. "What do you mean? Why not?"

"You made your decision, you made mine. I'm king now, and I can't just turn my back on everyone."

"Like I did, you mean?" Richard said, bristling.

"I'm not blaming you Richard, it was a long time ago. Maybe if we could go back…but we can't."

Staring at him, eyes narrowed, the prince said, "And this is your final say in the matter? You will not change your mind?"

"I won't." Gregory said, shaking his head and stepping away.

"Then you've brought this upon yourself." Richard replied. Turning his back away from Gregory he walked towards the girl. "Do it Isabelle." He yelled out to her, pointing his finger at the king. "Do it now."

The girl nervously stared from Richard to Gregory. The feeling of uneasiness grew and Gregory wrapped a hand around the hilt of his sword. What did his brother have in mind? But before he could more to unsheathe the weapon he was hit by a blast of something bright and green. He was screaming before he hit the ground.

_So things are starting to get pretty intense. Hope you liked the chapter! To see pics of Isabelle and more check out my blog at aworkoffiction . wordpress. com. _


	3. Pain and Whispers

_A big shout out to Lauren for her review! _

This chapter's song is_ Viva la Vida by Coldplay _

**Chapter III- Pain and Whispers**

You could hear the bones cracking and shifting within him as Gregory lay on the forest floor, body writhing in pain. It seemed as though his cries would bring the whole country to their leader's aide, but no one heard, and no one came. After moments that lasted for days it was all over. The screams faded into soft whimpers, like that of a tortured animal, until they finally subsided altogether and silence once again sank into the clearing. Slowly Gregory opened his eyes. Blinking up at the sky he stared at the passing clouds in silence. He felt extremely…heavy all of a sudden, almost as if he were sinking down into the earth and he wondered at it, his mind in shock over what had just occurred. Lying like that for several minutes more he finally moved to stand and face Richard, demand an explanation for whatever the hell had just happened, but as he did so he caught sight of his reflection in the now still pool of water and his eyes went wide.

"Do you see Gregory?" Richard said derisively, as if gently scolding a young child. "Do you see now where your pride has led you?"

The words barely registered for Gregory, he couldn't move, he couldn't breathe. It must be a nightmare, he thought. It couldn't be real, the reflection in the water couldn't be his. Gone was his face, skin, everything, suddenly replaced with the features of a monster. He looked down at himself, it was a trick of the water that was all, the pool was enchanted somehow- magicked into showing people something that wasn't really there. But as he stared at the hands resting at his sides, slowly bringing one up to his face the reality of what had happened hit him quickly and with force. Somehow it was true, horribly, impossibly true. But all Gregory could think was how? Why? _Why? _He turned slowly around and stared at his brother.

"What did you do Richard?" He cried, "What did you do?" Except when he spoke the words didn't come out as a scream or a yell, they came out in a roar, his question was drowned and swept away underneath it and the realization that that sound, something almost purely and completely animalistic, had come from himself, made Gregory shake despite the warmth of the day.

The sneer on Richard's face only served to confirm what Gregory, deep down, already knew: his brother had betrayed him.

"In short," Richard said, "I've made it possible to obtain what you should have willingly given me to begin with- my right to rule as king."

"So you turn me into a… into _this_?" Gregory said, not having the heart to say the word 'monster' out loud.

"There were other options of course." Richard said, his voice cool as he paced slowly back and forth before Gregory. "All of them messy, all of them pointing, one way or another, back to me. This way there are no assassins I have to keep quiet, no bloodshed I have to clear up. I've seen enough bloodshed." Richard said, muttering the last words to himself.

"What about her?" Gregory asked, pointing a claw at Isabelle, "You aren't afraid she'll talk?"

His brother laughed, "She won't tell a soul, if she does she'll be labeled as a traitor. Her feet would dangle from the noose as quick as mine, probably quicker." He said, looking at Isabelle, but though he smiled his eyes were cold and steely, daring her to speak, to defy him. The girl bowed her head and looked away.

"And you don't suppose anyone will find all of this a bit odd?" Gregory said, weakly grasping for the remaining straws he had left. "That the king, out on a hunt with his brother, who coincidentally is next in line for the throne, suddenly disappears? You don't think there won't be whispers about this?"

"Oh there will be whispers, of that I am sure, but no firm evidence to go along with them." Richard said, and he gestured at Isabelle, who disappeared behind a bush only to re-emerge once more dragging a stag, t_he _stag in fact- the one they had been hunting, before she once again put out a hand and with another flash of green light the buck was changed into Gregory's own likeness, lying on his side with an arrow in his back. Walking over to the body-that-wasn't Richard flicked the feathers, colored scarlet and green, at the arrow's end.

"This is one of Lord Newbery's arrows isn't it?" Richard asked, cocking his head toward Gregory. "Such a pity his aim is so poor."

"You can't do this Richard." Gregory said, his voice a mere whisper. "It won't work, I'll go I'll…"

Richard strode forward, pulling his sword out as he went before brandishing it at Gregory. "You'll what? Tell on me? We're not children anymore Gregory, and you are in no fit state to plead your case to anyone. Providing that someone will get close enough to you to hear it." The blade came closer and Gregory moved back a step, his clothing was in tatters from the change and his sword was no longer belted at his waist. There was hardly anything left of him that even proved he'd been human, much less the king, and he knew that Richard had won.

Seeing that Gregory would not press the matter Richard sheathed his sword once more. "Besides, it's not my doing, it's hers." Richard answered, pointing at Isabelle, before turning to walk away. "Kill her, if you must." Shooting a terrified look at Gregory the girl gasped, looking like a statue frozen in place.

Knowing this was his last chance Gregory appealed to his brother once more. "Please Richard!" He called to the prince's retreating back. "Please don't leave me like this." But Richard did not break stride.

"Are you coming Isabelle?" Richard called from over his shoulder. The girl stared after him before turning to gaze at Gregory, she took a breath and seemed about to speak before Richard's voice, barked out from behind the trees, "Isabelle, now!" The girl gave a start before quickly fleeing the clearing to follow the prince, like a dog follows his master.

…

Years passed and whispers of the fallen ruler continued. Some said it had killed the old queen to hear of one more lost son, some spoke of cries and moans they had heard while in the forest but when asked what they thought it might be the only cryptic answered received was "Not _what_, but _who_." The bravest, or perhaps the most foolish, of gossipers whispered that it was the king's own brother who had killed him. But this was only muttered on the darkest of nights to the most trusted of companions. They could not know how close to the mark they were.

And while the outside world continued on through their day to day lives Gregory tried, as best as a cursed man can, to continue on with his. He could have left the forest, he supposed, travelled in the dark of night to some distant land where no one knew of curses, or whispered his name. If asked he could not have really explained it, why he stayed. But in some distant part of his mind he knew that it was because, despite everything, this was still his kingdom, still his land, his home. And if he could not be a part of its changes it was still a small comfort to at least be able to see them as they came.

For fourteen years the former king lived secluded in the forest eating fruit and small game for survival, becoming more of the beast he resembled than the man he was. Gregory knew this and hated himself for it, but it was easy, too easy almost: to retreat away from that human side and just let the animal instincts and impulses he felt carry him off and away. At those times he would forget who he was, who he had been. His worst fear was that one day he would forget entirely, that the bestial part of him would win and take over and he wouldn't be Gregory anymore but just another creature, living in the forest, fighting to survive. And so he struggled against it in any way he could; when an urge came to run, to kill, he refused to move, closing his eyes he would tell himself over and over, _This is not who I am, this is not me. I'm not an animal. I'm Gregory. Gregory. _And though he could not disregard those animal senses completely over time he was able to repel them enough that they could be, while not destroyed, ignored.

...

Resting in the sun one day, letting his thoughts travel where they may, he heard a voice say in hushed tones. "Your highness?"

He thought he'd imagined it a first, a ghost of the past returning to haunt his waking dreams, as they so often tormented his nightly ones. But when he turned to look he saw that the voice that had spoken was no ghost, or wraith of his own design, but a woman. Real and substantial she stood just outside the patch of sunlight that he sat in. Staring at her in disbelief his mind spun. How did this woman know who he was? How could she possibly have guessed?

In a voice that cracked and rasped from disuse Gregory asked, "Who are you?"

The woman blinked, looking surprised at the question. And in that moment, he saw the flash of green in her eyes and he knew the answer before the woman had time to reply. _Isabelle._


	4. Immortal Monster

**My warmest thanks to everyone who's been reviewing, reading, or showed even a passing interest in this story so far. Hope it continues! **

_**Song: Howl by Florence + the Machine **_

**Chapter IV- Immortal Monster**

Before Gregory even knew what was happening he was standing over Isabelle, her back against the tree he had only just been sitting under moments before, claws splayed out to form a cage around her neck, trapping the woman beneath the boughs that covered them both.

"Change me back." he growled, face inches from hers. Isabelle's fingers came up to tear at the hand around her neck, but Gregory didn't notice.

"I've lived like this for too long Isabelle!" Gregory roared, startling the birds that fluttered about in the trees. "Change me back."

The only noise that escaped from the woman's lips was a strangled gurgle of sound and Gregory let her go with a start, cursing both her and his reckless behavior at the same time. Stepping back a few inches Gregory stared at the woman while she stood, leaning against the tree's trunk, a hand holding her neck as she caught her breath. She was older, he realized with surprise. No longer was he looking at a fresh faced youth but a full grown woman, somewhere in her thirties perhaps. And while her hair had lost some of its sheen, her eyes, he saw when she finally straightened and turned to stare back at him, were still as bright and potent as ever.

They stood like that for a few moments, neither of them speaking or moving, just looking. Finally it was Gregory who broke the silence.

"Why did you come back?" he asked her quietly, beginning to pace to and fro. Laughing sarcastically he added, "It can't be because you want something, you've already taken everything I had."

"No, no I-I don't want anything from you." She said softly.

He stopped midstride to look back at her, confused. "Then why?"

Isabelle bowed her head. "I wanted to apologize for what I did." She said, her eyes turning glassy with tears as she continued, "I'm so sorry for doing this to you, I can't even begin to tell you how sorry." She said, wiping at the tears now spilling down her pale cheeks. "Almost from the very moment I changed you I've regretted it. There isn't a day that goes by when I don't think about it, relive it over and over in my head. It's the last thing I see at night, the first thing I remember in the morning."

Trying to compose herself she rubbed furiously at her now red eyes and said in a steadier voice, "I don't expect you to forgive me, that's not why I'm here, I just wanted you to know that I'm not proud of what I did to you."

For a split second Gregory doubted her, knew it was a trick- a way of getting him to lower his guard so that Richard could come and finish him off for good. But as he stared at her pale face and tearstained cheeks he knew that there was no plan, no secret objective. She was telling the truth and this startled him more than anything. Coming closer he asked the question that had haunted him for more than a decade.

"What did you do to me?" he whispered, afraid of the question, afraid of what she would tell him. But he had to know.

Isabelle moved away from the tree and, taking a breath, she replied, "It's called a… a Sisohpromatem, it's a very advanced state of magic, I'm surprised I was even able to do it."

"What makes it so advanced?" Gregory asked, relieved to finally be getting some answers.

"It defies nature to change or distort something against its will. Someone." She said, looking up at him apprehensively.

Turning this new information over in his head he finally asked, "So what are you going to do?"

Isabelle gently shook her head, and just like that he knew. There wasn't any way she could help him, that was why she had looked so dejected, not just because she was sorry, but because nothing could be done. It twisted his stomach into knots to let go that feeling of hope that had returned so suddenly when Isabelle had arrived. Closing his eyes for a moment Gregory said sadly, "So that's it? There's no incantation you can say, no potion I can drink to make this right?"

"There isn't anything that I can do." She looked as if she were about to say more but Gregory cut her off.

"But you're a witch!" he said, the fury coming as a welcome replacement for the gloom descending around him. "How can there be no counter-spell, no solution I can use."

A ghost of a smile flickered across Isabelle's face and, like she was reciting a lesson learned from long ago, she said. "It's a common misconception that we can fix everything that we have done. Just like when you break something: sometimes it can be fixed, many times it cannot."

"So I will remain broken? Going on and on remembering what I used to be but never returning to it? This is what you're telling me?" He said, feeling the words as they choked past his throat and stumbled over his tongue.

"No. No there _is_ something."

Eyes widening in surprise Gregory turned to look back at her. "What do you mean? I thought you just said…"

"I said that there wasn't anything _I _could do, but that doesn't mean nothing can be done."

Moving to sit down under the shade of a tree she rubbed her hands together and stared off into the distance before continuing. "When I left you in that clearing I promised myself I would do whatever it took to help you and over the years I believe I've kept that promise, as well as I could anyway. There wasn't much to learn about it, the spell I mean. It's a branch of transfiguration that much I know, but it's almost never used because the effects are often of a permanent nature. That being said, from the things I have been able to read and research I believe your solution lies in doing the opposite."

Gregory shook his head, "I don't follow you."

"The spell may have been cast by using the magic I possess but it was fueled from the jealousy… maybe even hatred that your brother felt for you. His desire for power is the reason that the curse was able to take root so completely. I believe that if you were to find a person who is in stark opposition to your brother, someone who can see what has been concealed from the rest of us, someone who has love for you instead of hate, and would be willing to bind themselves to you the curse might be broken."

"And how am I to find such a person?" Gregory asked, more to himself than anyone else.

Standing up Isabelle stretched her neck and arms before saying, "That I do not know, but I hope with all my heart that you do."

Sensing she was about to leave Gregory blocked her path. "What about you, would you do it?" he asked. Already he could sense the uselessness of the whole idea but knew he would regret it if the question remained unspoken.

Isabelle sighed and looked up at him. "It is not a question of would I, but rather could I. I don't love you Gregory. You're a good man, a good person, but even if we grew to understand one another I don't think the feeling would come. And even if it did I have the impression that it wouldn't weaken the curse, much less end it."

"What do you mean?"

"I was responsible for the casting of the spell and in doing so I cannot have a hand in breaking it. It's… It's as if we have been scorched by a fire, your wounds are deeper than mine, but I've been touched by the flames as well. Therefore healing must come from someone else, someone whose hands have not been burnt by all this."

"Besides," she added, laughing weakly. "I'm at least fifteen years your senior now, too much of an old maid to consider marriage."

Gregory attempted a smile of his own, but something in her words tugged at his thoughts and he asked her. "What do you mean 'fifteen years your senior'? That's impossible. I would have had to stop aging for that to-" He saw Isabelle wince slightly. The words, along with their meaning, slowly leaked into his mind and once there refused to leave. "No." He said.

"I'm afraid so." She said in a quiet voice. "At least, you do not appear any older. Do you feel older?"

He considered the question, at times he had felt like a hundred years had slipped by, and sometimes it was as if the spell had only just been cast. There was no real way of knowing if time had truly stopped for him, but if what Isabelle had said was true eighteen years had come and gone. And while he had been aware of their passing they hadn't seemed to pay him the same amount of attention. A whole new set of questions and fears rose up and seemed to swallow him whole while systematically washing away the old ones. He had thought that there could be nothing worse than his current state, but to know that it would last forever? The idea that even death was denied to him seemed to make it all that much worse, for it meant that there would be no end to his imprisonment. It was a sentence that could never expire and he shuddered to think of what life would be like for him as some sort of immortal monster.

"But that-that can't be," Gregory said, the numerous impossibilities of the idea already rising up within him. "Time doesn't work that way, its continuous; it doesn't pick and chose who will fall under its influences and who will not."

"That may be true." She replied. "But it's also a terribly practical thing. And I've found that, as often as not, time won't meddle in those things that it does not understand. You are not fully human anymore but nor are you fully animal either. Time does not know what to make of you so it leaves you alone completely."

"I know it's a lot to take in," She conceded, putting a hand on his wrist. "I don't mean to burden you with all of this at once, but I thought that you would rather know, instead of remaining in ignorance."

"No, no, you were right in coming." He said. "And it's true, I do prefer knowing. I thought that that would make all this easier somehow, but it doesn't."

"Promise me one thing though Gregory," she said turning to look up at him, her emerald eyes trained on his face until he was forced to look back at her, "and one thing only. Do not give up, do not let yourself fall into a world of despair and regret; for it will do you no good. You must look forward, never back, but always forward."

"I believe that is more than one thing." He replied.

"Promise me."

"Alright." Gregory said with a sigh, "Alright I promise."

Squeezing his hand in farewell Isabelle began to walk off into the gathering gloom of the early dusk before Gregory called out to her.

"And how is my brother the king?" He asked, not really knowing what answer he would find the most satisfactory to hear.

Stopping Isabelle did not move to look back at him, only turning her head so that he caught the smallest glimpse of her face as she said, "Richard is a good king, just and fair. The people have thrived under his leadership. But while his laws benefit the people and his reign has been easy he will never been remembered as one of the great kings. I believe that you would have made a great king." And without another word she slipped away into the night.

**And there you go. One thing I'd like to point out is something I'm absurdly proud of and that's the name of the spell Gregory's been put under, if you're super smart you'll notice that it's the word 'metamorphosis' spelled backwards. A lot of this chapter is me giving my own sort of reasoning on why Gregory has to fall in love with someone and have her love him so that it fit well with the circumstances of the spell's casting. Tell me your thoughts, by reviewing! **


	5. A Transfer of Power

_**Secrets by OneRepublic**_

**Chapter V- A Transfer of Power**

Half a century went by and Gregory remained in the forest, slowly becoming as much a beast inside as he appeared without. And every so often someone would hear tales of a vicious animal that could not be harmed by sword or bow. A beast that held the intelligence of a man and had the strength of a bear, and passing travelers would boast of their ability to best the monster, but few lived up to their word. Those that did would stumble back through the trees, eyes wide in fear, unable to speak for days of what they'd seen, and even then little was to be got from them of what the forest held within its depths.

Then one day someone entered the forest once more, but it was no hunter or ignorant boy forced in by a dare, but an old woman. And all through the day she trudged over the thickets and moss of the forest, past the clear brooks and tiny dens of foxes and hares until she came upon a huge beast, curled up on the ground and slumbering in the afternoon light. Taller than a man he was, and more terrifying than any other creature the forest could boast. And the frail old woman hobbled up to the creature in a determined sort of way, and unceremoniously jabbed him in the side with her gnarled walking stick.

"Wake up Your Highness; I have something I need to speak to you about." She rasped.

Blinking back the fierce rays of sunlight that stabbed past his eyelids, Gregory stood up in surprise and looked into the eyes of the old woman. "Isabelle." He whispered.

"Good afternoon." She said, as she moved slowly towards a large rock jutting up out of the ground and, after placing a fresh white handkerchief over the top of it, slowly eased herself down onto the surface before looking shrewdly back at the enchanted man before her.

"Not nearly as fearsome as you're painted out to be by some of those old gossips in the outside world I think. You know one man I spoke to swore that you had two heads and scales all over yourself. I must say I think that's really pushing it, don't you?"

"What are you doing here?" he asked her, trying to mask the shock of seeing her again after all these years.

"Well the fact of the matter is that I'm dying, and I thought I'd drop by once more to say farewell." Isabelle answered bluntly.

"Oh," Gregory said, not sure what sort of response was appropriate for a statement like that. "I'm so…"

"Oh don't be sorry," Isabelle said, waving a small veined hand at him. "This isn't your fault is it? Nothing to be sorry for. It'll be good to get some rest I think, but that's only part of why I'm here. There are a few things that I still need to tell you before I go off to… well, wherever people go when they leave this world."

Gregory followed her example and sat down under the shade of a large oak tree and waited for her to begin.

"First, the state of the kingdom or the little that remains of it at least."

"What do you mean? What's happened?" Gregory asked, rising to his feet once more.

"There was a…coup." Isabelle said gently shaking her head. "The kingdom as you know it has been absorbed by a neighboring country to the south.

"But the Southerners were our allies." Gregory said in disbelief.

"_Were_," Said Isabelle with emphasis, "Many things have changed over the years."

"How? How did this happen?" Gregory demanded, beginning to pace back and forth in front of Isabelle.

"There was a young girl on the throne, Alexandria. All around intelligent enough, but her age was against her. Hardly more than a child in many respects when she took control of the kingdom, too easy a target for the foreign dignitaries to resist."

"This should never have happened." Gregory said, running a hand over his face. "I should have done something…."

"There was nothing you could have done, Gregory. Even if you had gone on to rule as king; this was after your time."

"But if I had been king this might have been prevented!" He roared, slamming a fist against one of the forest's trees. "If that damn fool of a brother of mine hadn't let his greed get the better of him this whole thing might have been prevented! Do you know how close I was to ending that war all those years ago?" Gregory demanded, bearing down on Isabelle who remained decidedly motionless on her makeshift chair while he glared at her. "A month, just one more month, that's all I would've needed to comprise a treaty ending it all. The other leaders would have been more than willing to sign and the whole thing would have been finished. But Richard, in his infinite wisdom, allowed it to go on for another two years!

Isabelle finally met his eyes with surprise upon hearing this new piece of information. "How did you…"

"You think I didn't know? You think that I wasn't listening with baited breath while trapped in this godforsaken forest?" he asked, the last two words rising up over the trees in an unrestrained roar. "Two years, wasted." He said, in a softer voice this time, turning away to look out at the bends and dips of light made through the tree tops. "Two years too long, and it meant that instead of a treaty the country was forced into surrender. It's all gotten steadily worse from there."

Looking back to the old woman he said with a sigh, "I'm sorry. I don't mean to bring up old wounds, but to me they're all still very new."

Slowly getting up Isabelle walked over to Gregory, "Remember what you promised me all those years ago. Looking back now is only going to bring about a lot of useless heartache and grief. What's done is done. And take it from me you don't achieve anything by filling your head with regret. Now, give me your hand."

These last few words caught him so off guard that he did what she asked without hesitation, engulfing her whole hand and part of her arm in his palm. "What are you going to do?" he asked curiously, but Isabelle only stared at their hands, hypnotized by them. Gregory was about to ask the question again, perhaps she hadn't heard him the first time, when a spot of light caught his eye and he looked down as well, all thoughts or questions forgotten. As he watched small pinpricks of emerald light began to curl themselves around Isabelle's arm, from elbow to wrist before twining down her hand and his, surrounding them both. It swirled between them for a moment before suddenly moving away from their hands to twine itself around Gregory's arm alone. Trying to step back his grip on Isabelle's hand slackened and almost fell away entirely but she held firm, gripping his fingers tighter than it would seem possible for an old woman. Watching as the light twined around his arm and up towards his shoulder Gregory relaxed for a short moment, reveling in the coolness of the wind that seemed to be soaking into him. Then just as suddenly the light tightened for a painful moment around his arm before breaking off and disappearing entirely. Ripping his hand away from the Isabelle's grip he stared at her in disbelief.

"What was that?" he asked.

"A Transference, a passing of the torch if you will. What you saw was my magic, your magic now."

Gregory flexed his hand and, moving his arm back and forth, wondered if things would ever start making sense. "Why-why would you give me that?"

"It's traditional for an enchanter to take on an apprentice sometime in their life and eventually pass down their own magic when the right time comes. Usually right before they die, otherwise when they pass on all that power is suddenly released out into the world. It's never safe for something that has been bottled up for so long to suddenly burst forth unconstrained. I myself never took on such a pupil; and besides, it seemed more fitting that something of this magnitude should go to you in the end anyway."

"But I can have no use for this."

Isabelle simply shrugged. "There may come a time when that might not be as true as it is now, save it until then perhaps." And moving forward she bent into a very small curtsy and said, "Farewell your highness, it was an honor to have known you, and I wish you all the best."

That evening, after all the light had left the sky and the wind fluttering through the grass was the only sound that could be heard, Gregory slowly made his way out of the forest for the first time in he couldn't remember how long. Standing there, looking out at the rolling hills and thick planes of grass waving in long abandoned fields, he breathed in the cool night air, feeling the smallest hint of freedom, and for now that was all he needed. After a few minutes he turned back to the trees and walked alongside them to where an old castle crumbled on a hill. The sight of his home in such disrepair made his shoulders fall ever so slightly. The great oak doors, carved with tales of his ancestors heroic deeds was weather-beaten and rotted, the once clear shape of faces smudged away by dirt and water. Inside was even worse; tapestries and wall-hangings were ripped and tattered, fluttering half-heartedly in the breeze while some had disappeared altogether, nothing but a lighter shade in the stone to reveal where they had once been.

He tried to dismiss all the leaves and branches that littered the floor of the ballroom, the broken windows and rain soaked carpets. He tried to dismiss all of it, told himself that it would at least be nice to finally sleep in a place with walls and a ceiling. But the idea of his childhood home, the place where his father and mother had raised him, torn apart and abandoned like this was almost too much to bear. Suddenly he almost felt more trapped than he had in those first few years after the change. Walking quickly he left the remains of his home behind and travelled out into the gardens, hoping that at least they still might be as they had been, that there was perhaps something that remained familiar, something unchanged. But no, the gardens were just as dead and abandoned as everything else he had seen.

Wandering through the hedge rows and lanes that had once held his mother's favorite plants and flowers Gregory began to wonder if coming here had been a mistake, that maybe he should go back to the forest and live like the animal he now was instead of residing in a place made and built by the hands of men. And just when he finally came to the conclusion that there was nothing left for him here, no reminders worth staying for he saw a hint of red off in the distance and he followed it until his stunned eyes saw something he hadn't seen in more than sixty years… roses, not many, indeed hardly a handful still clung to the bush but they were there and they were alive. Slowly Gregory reached out a clawed paw to softly touch one, to feel the velvety smoothness of it like he had so many times before on walks in the mid-afternoon and later on at dusk. This garden had always been a refuge for him, as it had been for his mother as well. Whenever things became too overwhelming or the crowds of courtiers and advisors had just seemed too numerous he had always come here to rest. Closing his eyes he imagined those times, and for a brief, wonderful moment, he felt as if he was back in that place again, with the garden fresh and ripe with life the sun spilling down towards the ground as if it couldn't reach the plants fast enough. But then he opened his eyes and the image faded, the roses however remained, and as he stared at the few blooming ones still on the branch Gregory came to a decision; if those roses, so small and feeble, could survive here alone, without any help or care given to them than so could he. Isabelle had given him her magic, he could use it to make this place new again, to hide it away so that no one would ever find it. He would not wither away and die, he would remain here. Even if it was forever.

**_A/N: Hope you enjoyed it, thanks to everyone whose read and reviewed/favorited so far be sure to keep on doing so! And if you'd like to look at some of the pictures that inspired me with the story so far click on the link on my profile page. _**


	6. The Finest Ball of the Season

_**Mazurka from Swan Lake by Tchaikovsky***_

_***some versions have a faster tempo than others, I was listening to Alexander Titov: St. Petersburg New Philharmony Orchestra version, if that makes a difference for you. **_

**Chapter VI- The Finest Ball of the Season**

_Seventy-five years later_

Far away the stars glimmered down on one of the great cities of the west where, on this night, all the finest ladies and gentlemen of society were converged at Palisades Park for what was very quickly becoming, in everyone's opinion, the finest ball of the season. And amidst the lively chatter and cool summer air wafting in from the open balcony windows Anne Gibson was thoroughly enjoying herself. Swirling this way and that in her golden silk gown she flew from one dance partner to the next, laughing at the silly way Thomas kept catching her eye and winking. He was fully aware that she was doing her best to look elegant and sophisticated so he, in turn, was doing everything in his power to make sure those were the two things she couldn't accomplish. Knowing she shouldn't, Anne glanced back at her brother once more only to see him wink again, he was doing it so often and so quickly he looked to be having some sort of nervous twitch. The expression on the faces of the interchanging ladies he danced with only served to make his antics all the more ridiculous and she tried to hold back a snort with one gloved hand, spinning around to meet her next partner.

Meeting Thomas in the middle of the floor she gave him a severe look as he lifted and spun her in the air as the dance dictated. "You have to stop doing that." She said, trying to sound cross when she was anything but. "I'm trying to look poised and dignified."

"Well you're in great danger of looking as bored as Samuelson over there." Thomas said, nodding towards the fabulously mustachioed man as his head drooped lower and lower over his punch glass. Anne laughed, a warm sound that flew from the bottom of her lungs to the tops of the marble walls.

"No part of my countenance even remotely resembles that of Lord Samuelson." She said, smiling.

"Oh, but it does," Thomas replied, his face a perfect mask of seriousness. "Muttonchops and all." He said, giving her cheek a quick tap before spiriting away to his next partner.

* * *

Later that night, after navigating her way through the twisting halls and climbing staircases of her family's home Anne finally reached the small glass door that would lead out to the large, flat expanse of roof overlooking the bright lights of the city. The August night was still fairly warm but Anne drew the cloth of her shawl tighter across her shoulders against the slight fall breeze that was starting to creep its way into the air. Walking over towards the ledge she sank down next to Thomas, handing him one of the two pastries she had brought with her, leftovers from the ball, before sinking down next to him and swinging her legs over the edge, arms supported by the knee-high iron railing that ran across the length of the roof. It had become a sort of tradition over the years to come up there after the various parties, balls, and cotillions their parents hosted, as a way to relax after all the hustle and bustle of the nighttime festivities. Their parents of course had discovered this little tete-a-tete between them years ago and had since forbidden them from doing it ever again. Their father had proclaimed that the chance of falling posed as far too great of a risk. Their mother on the other hand was more worried about how her daughter would look sitting on the side of a roof as opposed to bloodied and dead underneath it.

"Can you imagine what some unsuspecting lady or gentleman out on an evening stroll would think if they ever raised their heads up and saw your stockings and petticoats hovering above them? What's more, imagine what they would say!" Anne however wondered more what those ladies and gentlemen were doing standing under her house so late at night rather than what would be said by them later on.

Sitting next to her brother, Anne listened to the nighttime excursions of the passing birds and crickets that harmonized below, not noticing the way Thom kept shifting back and forth beside her until he got to his feet to pace in a short line behind her. Licking the last pieces of sugar and jam off her lips Anne turned to look quizzically at her brother.

"What's the matter?" She asked.

Thom looked at her, his teeth working the nail of his thumb as he continued to pace. "I'm just worried is all." He said with a sigh.

"About the speculation?" Anne said, getting up to stand in the middle of the imaginary tightrope her brother continued to walk.

"Yes," her brother acquiesced in a tired manner, "about the speculation."

Anne remembered the day that her father had made the decision to enter into the investment, along with some other men, on the goods of one of the city's merchants. Normally investing in the cargo of Peter Hughes was as good as blindly reaching your hand into Ali Baba's cave in hopes of grabbing some jewels. But Mr. Hughes was hoping to sell and in turn bring back shipments from the south, a place known for only three things: its treacherous coastline, discrimination towards westerners, and its great abundance of Calaphim; a very small, very rare purple flower that, when crushed and mixed into the right concoction could produce anything from the most gorgeous of dyes to the most deadly of poisons. It was known as the Flower of a Thousand Uses and getting your hands on just one of its petals, let alone a whole bouquet, could mean money and comfort for any man for as long as a year. Their father, normally so calm and resolute in all his business ventures, had fretted and worried over the imports of Mr. Hughes for more than five months now. And even when it was too late to back out, even when the man's ships had left the harbor and disappeared behind the horizon, still Papa had worried and second guessed himself on the decision he had made. And now, with those self same ships expected to arrive any day now… well it was no wonder that tensions were high in the Gibson household. That was the whole reason for the ball, to ease everyone's minds and offer a few hours of peace after all this constant worry. Anne wondered if having such a display of glamour and wealth wouldn't in fact be tempting the fates, but she had gone along with it and was glad she had, for it had made her forget for a little while the problems her father faced. But now Thom had succeeded in bringing them back out into the night, something that frustrated her. She didn't want to worry anymore! If only she could just move forward in time for a moment to see what would happened, if their fortunes would fall or rise. Then at least she wouldn't have to put up with the knot in her stomach or the tired look in her parents' eyes each day over the breakfast table.

Now, reaching out to touch her brother's hand she gave him a small smile. "I know you're worried, I am too, but there have been times before when our investments were… uncertain, and it's always turned out fine. There's no reason why this one should be any different. Everything's going to be fine. I'm sure of it."

But despite the sincerity in her voice Anne couldn't have been more uncertain, or more wrong.

* * *

That night Anne dreamt that she was at a party, dancing with kind, faceless strangers while sounds of laughter and the clinking of punch glasses surrounded her. She was spun once, twice, three times in her partner's arms before she looked around and realized that they're weren't dancing in a ballroom at all, but on the dock of the shipyard. The wood creaked and swayed all around her as screams started to fill the air. Turning to look she saw some of the guests had fallen into the sea and were drifting farther and farther away. Other's jumped in to try and help the others but the waves were too strong and they were soon swept under as well. Running up to the edge of the harbor she saw Thomas in the water, fighting to swim back towards her. Looking down Anne discovered a length of rope coiled at her feet. She threw it out to him again and again, trying to make it reach her brother but someone else grabbed it first and started to pull himself to shore. Looking down Anne realized her foot was twisted around the rope and she tried to call out to the man to stop, wait for her to move away first but it was too late and Anne was falling, falling down….

Feeling as if her stomach had dropped right out of her body Anne awoke with a start. It took a few moments before her thoughts were able to organize themselves enough to make her realize it had only been a dream. Heart still beating furiously in her chest she flopped back against the pillows.

"It wasn't real." She sighed in relief as she turned over on her side, already drifting back to sleep. "It was only a dream."

* * *

The following Tuesday found Anne lying on the limb of one of her favorite trees, an old oak on the east side of Palisades, her bare feet just barely skimming the tips of the grass as she swung them lightly back and forth. When she was small her father would tell her that all the tree's limbs were once very far away from the ground but that after a long while of holding its huge, heavy arms up day after day the tree had decided to rest some of those long limbs and, enjoying the sensation so much, had decided then and there never to lift up all its arms again if it could possibly be helped. Anne smiled at the memory as she stared up at the bright green leaves that seemed to act as a roof of stained glass allowing the sunlight to peep through. It was hypnotizing in a way but it could not detract her completely from that self-same knot that had been building in her stomach for so many days. Word had come that the ships her father had invested in were set to arrive late this afternoon and the whole of the household was at a standstill. Hardly a single servant dared take an extra breath lest it shatter the already delicate balance between hope and fear that seemed to have come to a head today.

As the day passed by and the shadows grew like giants at her feet Anne kept to the grounds, feeling that if she entered the house she would be trapped, with no way out and not a gasp of air to be had for herself or anyone else. Around suppertime she looked up from the book she'd brought with her to see Thomas moving up and over a sloping hill towards her, she tried to read his expression hoping for news and yet praying there would be none. Closing her eyes she tried to focus only on the air coming in and out of her lungs but her thoughts were like an annoying little song in her head, _Let there be good news or none at all. Let there be good news or none at all. Please let there be…_

"Anne." Thomas said. She opened her eyes, afraid to look at her brother, afraid to know.

"Well?" she asked him briskly, staring at the grass swaying around his feet.

"The ships have come in… an- and we are ruined." Thomas answered in a flat voice.

Anne clenched her hand into a fist to keep from screaming and only nodded instead.

**A/N: Okay, so there's that. Started out sort of fun but apparently depressing things are going to be big in this story. I hope everything doesn't seem like melodrama, melodrama to you. But look on the bright side, at least their house didn't burn straight to the ground (like I've read in some old versions of the fairy tale). **

**Hope I've given you enough of a description- for now- of these two new main characters. I very much want to do some sort of thing where I (the narrator) don't describe them as much as having the other characters do it for me, tying it into first impressions of people and everything. Please review, let me know what clicked and what didn't!**


	7. Bright Above, Dark Below

**A/N: A new chapter, huzzah! School is out for the summer, my finals are all over so hopefully we can really get the ball rolling on this thing and get to the good stuff soon. I'm as excited to write it as you (hopefully) are to read it. Thanks to everyone who read/reviewed/favorited, etc. last time. Please don't stop! **

**Song: Swan Song by Ilan Eshkeri **

**Chapter VII- Bright above, Dark below **

Sunlight poured cheerfully into the Gibson's morning parlor the next day around noon, lighting up the grim faces seated within. Mr. Gibson, a tall ruddy-looking man, was sitting near the empty fireplace, and every once in a while he began to drum his fingers against the arm rest before realizing what he was about and stopping before it came to anyone's attention just how terribly annoying such a sound could be in a silent morning parlor room, before beginning the sequence all over again.

Mr. Gibson's wife, Amelia, sat across from her husband on a small red velvet couch situated between two small cherry end tables, each sporting tiny delicate china figurines. A gift from a cousin, Mrs. Gibson would murmur before quickly changing the subject, if anyone were to ask about the origin of the horrible little china statues with their tiny painted grins- which Mrs. Gibson had always felt were laughing at her in an evil sort of way. Now, staring at them she felt that nothing in the world would please her more than to smash each and every one of them…slowly and individually until their vile smirks and cruel eyes disappeared forever in the deep carpet of the room.

Thomas wasn't present; he had gone into town to salvage anything that could be rescued from the remains of their sad investment. Mr. Gibson had originally planned to go; indeed he had only just finished dressing when his son came to him, begging to go into town in his stead. Mr. Gibson agreed to the idea, knowing that Thom would be able to sort everything as well as he might have, while at the same time secretly glad not have to face the crowds and their whispers within the thoroughfare. Almost as glad as Thom was to escape out to town and away from the dismal sadness that had seemed to pour into every last nook and cranny of Palisades within the last twenty-four hours.

Up in her room Anne stared out of one of the big bay windows glaring up at the blue, cloudless sky. It was as if even the sun had decided to turn its back on them and go on shining brightly above while everything was completely falling apart below. With a final sniff of disgust at the spiteful day outside Anne walked around her room, fingering a perfume bottle here, stroking a forest green gown there. _It'll all be gone soon_. She thought sadly to herself. _We'll be gone soon. _Because of course they couldn't stay in this beautiful home any longer, their debts wouldn't allow it. And then, standing there, staring at that stupid silk gown in her wardrobe Anne started to cry. And she went on crying, over all her silly little fancy clothes and jewelry, over the beautiful leather bound books and big windows opening out to that awful blue sky. She wasn't a superficial girl, but like everyone she'd formed an attachment of sorts to her possessions, they all had a memory behind them, they all meant something. And now they were going away- forever. And it felt almost like… like a part of her was going away with them. After a few more minutes she moved towards her dressing table and dabbed her eyes with one of her linen handkerchiefs. She would have to go down soon for lunch and she refused to let her parents see her tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes. They had enough to worry about already.

* * *

Dinner that night was a dismal affair; looking around the table at her mother's sad blue eyes, the dejected way Thomas moved the food around and around his plate without bringing a single morsel to his mouth, over to slumped shoulders and deep frown on her father's face. Anne's mind raced, trying to think of something, anything, to say that would break the quiet. The silence was so loud her ears were starting to hum. But it was her mother that finally spoke.

"We've been looking at residences that might be available for us all, haven't we John?" She said, shifting her eyes from Thomas and Anne over to her husband.

Mr. Gibson raised his eyes, looking like one just awakened from a dream and replied slowly, "Yes." He repeated the word again, trying to organize his thoughts into some semblance of order before going on. And Anne's stomach twisted at the sight of her father, always so sure, so light-hearted looking so very lost and wholly unsure now. "Yes, I've been able to call in some favors from those few who still had any favors left to offer, and our debts are not quite as terrible as we first thought."

Thomas and Anne's heads both collectively snapped up to look more closely at their father, wild hopes springing to mind as such thoughts are wont to do in hopeless situations but their father shook his head to their unanswered question. "No, the fall has been cushioned but we are not on firm ground yet."

"Yet." Their mother interjected, emphasizing the word. "But we shall find a way through this." She said, reaching out to grasp her husband's hand. Their father nodded in agreement and both children nodded in turn, Thomas even managing a small smile as well. Each voicing their surety that they would find a way out, they weren't defeated yet. Because almost nothing helps an unsure person more than hearing that everything is going to be alright, even if no one believes it themselves. Because once you get in the habit of saying something getting in the habit of believing it is never that far behind.

* * *

And it turned out that with a little time that foolish belief they all kept whispering to themselves at odd ends of the day and before falling asleep at night and after waking up in the morning really did start to become less of a belief and more of a reality. A week had passed with no news from any of the letters and notices that their father had sent out inquiring about housing for the family until finally a very hastily scribbled message appeared at their doorstep the following Thursday announcing that a home of suitable space and adequate rent had become available on very short notice in a small country town called Havencrest and would Mr. Gibson be so kind as to return a reply quickly for it seemed unlikely that the space would stay vacant for long. Mr. Gibson quickly showed the small sketch of the cottage house to Amelia and the children who all agreed that it was better than they'd all expected before he sent out his own ink blotted message in return. It was decided, they would be leaving Palisades and that beautiful western city for the town of Havencrest and their new home.

**A/N: Kinda skimpy but this is sort of an in between chapter that's important but I also don't want to ramble needlessly about how depressed and poor everyone is feeling when you guys already gets the message. Beating a dead horse and all that. Reviews are super helpful in making me feel more motivated when I'm writing chapters. *wink* Thanks for reading! **


	8. A Not So Awful Place

**Here we are, another chapter, and so soon too! I can hardly believe it but things are about to get really juicy and I want to move through the lead-up so we can all get to the good stuff. Thanks for the review OceanFire9 and thanks to everyone else who favorited and whatnot. It really does help! **

**Main Titles from **_**The Black Beauty**_** soundtrack by Danny Elfman**

**Chapter VIII- A Not-So-Awful Place**

As the carriage clattered along the bumpy road Anne swayed in time to the coach's movements. Opening her eyes she looked out at the pale white and shadowy blackness that the moon's light cast everything into. They would be coming to Havencrest soon and Anne wanted to catch a glimpse of their new home as quickly as possible. The sketch her father had sent round to each of them in turn had looked nice enough, a small cottage surrounded by green fields and trees, but looks could be deceiving. How could they trust the veracity of any of the statements that Mr. Bishop had sent to them? For he was the man who had written the family that well-timed letter informing them of the vacant cottage. Sighing Anne leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes once more. Fretting over it now, when they were more than half way there, wouldn't help anything. She would simply have to wait and see.

* * *

In what seemed like just moments later Thomas was shaking her awake. Shifting her sore neck from side to side Anne slowly opened her eyes to the sunlight that seemed to want nothing more than to hit the exact spot her face was occupying. "What did you say?" She mumbled, trying not to yawn.

"We're here." Thom repeated, his voice a mixture of relief and excitement.

Slowly Anne got out of the carriage and looked around at their new home. _It's not that bad._ She thought, surprised. All this time, despite the sketch she'd seen, she'd been expecting some run down shack of a house, and while the whole place could have fit comfortably within Palisades it was by no means a hovel. The grey stones of the cottage were wrapped around with deep, green colored ivy that had been groomed in such a way that it covered the house like veins in an arm. There were clear windows on its ground floor and upper level as well as a chimney off to the side of a solid looking roof, but the part that Anne instantly loved best about the cottage was its blue door. Walking up to the place she knew that whatever horrible fantasies she'd half imagined while falling asleep in her old room, their new home would not live up to them. It was too friendly for that.

Opening the door Mr. Gibson and his family all wandered inside one by one. The interior was a bit dusty, but nothing too heinous for a house that had been kept empty for half a year. There was a large living room with a small fireplace that led off to a kitchen and closet on the right with two rooms and a narrow staircase that showed nothing but darkness on the left. As each of them slowly moved from room to room Anne was drawn to the staircase and slowly made her way up the crooked steps that seem to twist first right then quickly left before ending at a medium sized door. Turning the handle she walked inside and found a small, but comfortable looking bedroom that sported not one, but two little windows on opposite ends of the wall to her left. Peeking out of one she saw that the sun had gone behind a cloud and the landscape in front of her was soft and gray-looking, except for a large spot of green straight ahead, about a half mile away from the house. Hearing footsteps on the stairs Anne turned to see Thom opening the door.

"Ah, is this your room then?" He asked, seeming to read her mind as he looked around.

"If no one else wants it, then yes, I think it might be." Anne answered thoughtfully; smiling for the first time since they'd heard the awful news that had brought them to this not so awful place.

"Soâ€¦what do you think of it?" Thom asked as he walked towards her, leaning down to look out at the forest she'd been admiring a few seconds before

Tracing the top of the windowsill with her finger she replied. "I think it could've been a lot worse. But as it isâ€¦ I don't know, but I think like it."

"So do I." He said, straightening up. "We'll have to thank Mr. Bishop for bringing it to our attention. Father said he might be coming over later, once we've settled."

"Yes, who is he exactly?" She asked as they both moved together towards the door. "I never did ask."

"An old friend of Father's I think, or an acquaintance at least. He left the city awhile back to seek out some profitable business deal or another and fell on hard times." Thom said, as they made their way downstairs, his voice growing softer the closer they came to the ground floor. "All his friends deserted him once they heard the news; Father was the only one who was willing to help him. Thankfully he's been able to return the favor. "

Anne stepped off the staircase and looked around herself, it wasn't home yet but it was better than nothing. She'd just have to get used to it.

* * *

As it turned out Mr. Bishop did not call on them that day or the week after, or even the one after that. He was like a dead man; not often spoken of, remembered at odd times, but never actually present. Until one day in the autumn when he was called back to life.

Walking out of the house Anne began to move down the lane as the cool afternoon breeze ruffled her brown dress. It had been six months since they had first travelled to Havencrest and everyone had gotten used to living there, more or less. It took a little trial and error but they were all able to fall into a routine of sorts. Anne had started out in the kitchen as the family cook but it was soon glaringly obvious that such a role would not be suitable for her. When she cooked the meat it was burnt on the outside and completely raw within. Her bread wouldn't rise, her stew wouldn't simmer, and the project was collectively deemed a complete loss by the whole family. Thomas, on the other hand was a natural with food. He was better at fine meals than the entire staff of cooks and servants had been at Palisades and the kitchen became his domain which almost no one entered unless they wanted a swift and very annoying lecture on the cons of a distracted cook. Mr. Gibson had taken to woodworking and though his first attempts at it resulted in crooked tables and uncomfortable chairs he kept at the job until he was proficient enough to sell some of his items at market and was even commissioned to create furniture and little decorative knick-knacks for others.

So while Thomas and her mother worked inside at the cooking and cleaning respectively, and her father carved away at his furniture in the back. Anne moved outside and focused her time on the task of making things grow for her brother's kitchen and tending to the all around outlook of their little cottage which she had started calling Birch Cottage in honor of the tiny copse of trees that grew behind the house. And every so often while she dug and planted and swept and cleaned she would look up at the forest whose trees could be seen just to the right of the long lane they'd travelled on so many months ago and she would make plans to walk down that lane and into the forest, just a little ways and explore inside it. The birch trees proved to still be too small and weak for climbing and Anne missed the solid feel of a tree against her back as she read one of her books.

So it was on this autumn afternoon that Anne was finally able to draw herself away from chores and housework and fill one pocket with a few bread rolls that Thomas had made them for breakfast that morning and the other with one of the small books she had been able to salvage from the auction they'd had at Palisades in what seemed much farther away in time than a mere six months and walk down the lane towards the forest.

Coming to the edge she looked up at the trees whispering to each other in the wind and was just about to take a step into them when a voice from behind stopped her.

"I wouldn't go in there if I were you." The voice said mildly.

Turning to look Anne saw a short, older man with white hair in a black suit and top hat standing a few feet from her leaning on a straight, brass tipped cane.

"Really." Anne replied, rather annoyed that someone had interrupted her. "And why not?"

"That's The King's Forest. The whole place is haunted." The strange man replied, moving to stand next to her.

"Haunted?" Anne asked, turning to look back at the forest, more intrigued than frightened. "By whom?"

"By a king of course!" The man said, leaning closer and adding in a conspiratorial voice. "One day, when he was out hunting a terrible monster came and killed him. Ate him up in one swallow. So now, nobody ever goes in and nobody ever comes out."

Anne narrowed her eyes at the man. "Well if no one goes in I for one would be fairly shocked if I ever saw someone come out."

The man opened his mouth then closed it again, Anne pushed down the urge to laugh at his expression, which resembled a fish she'd once seen who'd recently been pulled from the water. Finally the man shook his head and said "Well, all I'm saying is what I heard. But I've also heard that it's impolite to frighten pretty girls with tall tales. Much less ramble on when there are introductions to be had." And with that the man took off his hat and made a slight bow towards her. "Mr. Anthony Bishop, at your service Miss." He said, ending the last part in a question.

"Anne." She replied, giving him a curtsy. "Anne Gibson."

"Oh, you're Gibson's daughter, then. I thought you had a sort of genteel look about you. I'm very good at noticing those things. Well if you would be so kind Miss Gibson as to take my arm you can show me to your home. I've been away for quite some time or I would've called earlier." And with that, the jaunty Mr. Bishop crooked his arm so that Anne might put her hand on his and they walked back down the lane.

* * *

The arrival of Mr. Bishop led to a great deal more clients for Anne's father as well as much needed help during those first strenuous winter months, bringing over a whole rack of lamb at one point for them all to feast on. Their mother didn't approve of him at first; calling his actions 'charity', pronouncing the word in the same manner one might say 'slug mucus'. But the things Mr. Bishop brought with him were always given in such a way that one couldn't help seeing them less as the actions of a charitable person and more as the behavior of a friend and equal. Anne liked Mr. Bishop well enough, she thought of him as a country gentlemen in its purest form. The one fault she could find in him was his constant warnings about the King's Forest. At first she thought he was merely teasing her, but the more she got to know the man the more she came to realize he had a superstitious streak about him. Always throwing salt over his shoulder to keep the devil away, saluting magpies, and for some odd reason he thought that if the sugar was put in before the tea it would help his luck. But on the subject of the woods near her home she couldn't quite believe all the things that Mr. Bishop had told her. Staring out at the place from her bedroom window Anne tried to recall how it had seemed that day she'd been about to walk in. It hadn't _felt _like a bad place, and she had always assumed that truly evil places left a sort of trace of their evilness; a rotten taste in the mouth or a stomachache that wouldn't go away. But looking out at the forest with its sunlight floating down through the trees, and the leaves moving side to side in the wind, the whole place felt more sad than anything else.

"One of these days I'll walk through and see for myself." Anne said softly. Not knowing how soon that day would come.

**A/N: So there we are, hope everything's not too boring for everyone. It's really going to pick up in the next chapter, we're on the way to greater things! Don't forget to review/favorite if you please. **


	9. Weather and Walls

**Chapter IX- Weather and Walls**

It was still dark as the messenger mounted his horse. Reaching down for the letter the gentleman had written the man handed him a small bag of coins as well. "See that it gets there as soon as possible." He said, before backing slowly away from the horse. The rider turned his mount in a half circle and raced out of the stables and into the moonless night.

Looking up from the floundering tomatoes that she was struggling to keep alive Anne saw a cloud of dust rising behind a tired looking horse and an even more travel-worn rider. Standing up and brushing the dirt off her apron Anne rose to meet the rider as he stopped in front of their cottage. Dismounting quickly he rushed over to her. "Are you Gibson?" He asked breathlessly.

"One of them, yes." Anne replied as the man pulled an envelope from his pocket.

"I was sent by a Mr. Peter Hughes to bring this to the Gibson family."

"Hughes?" Anne repeated in disbelief to which the man nodded. "Thank you." She said, taking the letter with shaking hands. The man touched the brim of his hat by way of reply before resuming his place in the saddle and heading off the way he'd come at a much slower fashion than the one he'd arrived in.

Anne stared down at the letter, worry creasing her forehead, her mind instantly leaping to the worst possible scenario this letter might pose. She'd been so worried those first few weeks that they'd not only be destitute but also carted off to the debtor's prison. Was that what awaited them in this letter? Or… no, she could hardly bring herself to hope that it might be good news. Walking slowly around to the back of the house she squeezed the letter ever so slightly, trying to will it not to bring them more grief. Coming closer and closer to her father she saw he was putting the finishing touches on the leg of a footstool but stopped as Anne approached him.

"Well now, what do you have for me my girl?" He asked her, smiling. She held the letter out for him to take and the smile was instantly replaced with a worried frown to match her own as he read the name of the sender on the envelope. Quickly breaking open the seal her father scanned its contents before slowly easing himself onto the stool he had been working on moments before.

"What is it Father?" Anne asked, putting her hand on his shoulder.

"It's… it's one of the ships, they thought it was lost but it's come back to port. They want me to go and retrieve my share of the merchandise."

Anne's eyes went wide as the news soaked in. She could hardly believe it, maybe…just maybe they could go back to the way things were. _Surely not. _The practical voice in her head piped up. _It was just one ship. And one ship isn't going to bring back all the things we lost. _But still, news… _good news_… it was hard not to let her hopes rise up once more.

That night was spent in silence as they all sat around the fireside, absorbed in their own thoughts. The letter had been very brief, only saying that a ship had come in and Mr. Hughes would be able to put some of the merchandise on hold for them as part of their share in the investment, but only if they hurried.

"I suppose I should pack and leave tomorrow." Their father finally said, bringing the others back to the present.

"But do you really think it wise dear?" His wife asked him. "It didn't sound from the letter like there was really a very strong guarantee and if that's the case, I'd hate to see you waste all that time and energy on a useless journey."

Their father was silent for a moment before looking up and saying "I think we have very little left to lose and a good deal to gain, if I don't go I will always be left wondering what might have been and I don't think I could stand such circuitous thoughts for the rest of my life."

But his wife still looked unconvinced. Turning his gaze from the firelight Thomas said suddenly, "Perhaps it would be more convenient for everyone if I traveled to the city instead of Father."

"I am not so old and feeble that I could not make the journey myself Thom." Mr. Gibson replied, a hint of warning in his voice. He was by all accounts a patient man but the one thing he couldn't stand was any suggestion, however slight, that he could not manage his own affairs.

"No one is saying you aren't capable, but if I go you won't have to postpone on any of your woodworking requests."

Their father considered Thom's words carefully , "You may be right Thom. But are you sure you'll be able to handle everything?"

"I'm sure of it." He replied with confidence.

The next day found Thomas and Anne up bright and early double-checking his saddlebags to make sure everything was ready.

"I don't know which I'm going to miss more," Anne said as she tightened the last of the buckles in place. "You or your cooking."

"The latter I expect." Thom answered teasingly.

Grabbing the horse's bridle he led him away from the pasture and out towards the road.

Their parents came out of the kitchen to say goodbye in turn.

"Be safe sweetheart." His mother said, kissing him on the cheek.

"Make sure you keep to the inn after sundown, don't go getting into more trouble than you can handle." Said his father gruffly, patting his back good-naturedly.

Anne wrapped her arms around her brother and squeezed tightly, wishing she could go with him. "I'll miss you." She whispered in his ear. "Don't be away for too long."

"I'll be back within the fortnight, probably with another horse in tow for all the extra gold!" He answered in a low voice, laughing a little as he did.

And quick as a wink he was riding off down the lane, over a hill, and was gone.

Anne sighed a little as she went back inside the house, wishing she could speed up time a little. It was going to be a long two weeks.

Cold and tired Thomas turned his horse away from the soft warm lights of the inn he had been residing in for the past four days and out towards the gathering darkness. Altogether it had been a miserable time and he was glad to be leaving the city once more. Upon his arrival he had gone straight to Hughes' residence to inquire after the returned ship. Leading Thom down to the docks Mr. Hughes explained how the ship had been captured by pirates at one point during their journey and swept into a great heaving storm very soon after.

"From what I hear from the crew it was enough to make even Odysseus weep." Hughes told him. After hearing this news Thomas steeled himself for the worst, which is exactly what he received. What remaining cargo the Gibson's had claim to was either rotting in a pool of water or had disappeared along with the pirates. As he shuffled through the pitiful remains of what had just yesterday been a hopeful vision of their future life Thomas' shoulders slumped and after a brief farewell to Mr. Hughes he traveled back to his rented room to catch up on some much needed sleep. Thomas stayed in town for a few more days after that, he'd hoped to run into one or two of his friends from the olds days but the ones he did see either reprimanded him for coming to their homes in such a degraded state or gave him so many sympathizing words and pitiable glances that he felt more run-down and filthy than even the poorest vagabond. Needless to say, he was quite glad to be leaving for home and he prayed that he'd never have to make such an awful journey again.

The next few days of travel were no better or worse than any other he'd encountered but upon reaching the last 40 miles before home a huge storm erupted overhead. Thomas was soaked in less than a minute. Lightning shattered the sky and the horse began to whinny nervously, shifting from side to side. Thom looked about hurriedly for some sort of shelter that he could kip under for the night but the onslaught of rain coupled with the nighttime darkness made it impossible to see more than three feet in front of him. Trying to decide what to do another bolt of lightning flitted across the sky, briefly illuminating a forest off to his left. Steering the horse closer to the trees Thomas wondered if he was willing to chance electrocution in the safety of those branches. _Well if I do end up being struck at least I'll be warm which is more than I can say for myself right now, h_e thought with a shiver. Dismounting he led the frightened horse deep into the forest, walking until the trees were so dense that hardly any rain could creep through the branches down onto the forest floor. But the trees did nothing to stop the wind whistling through and finding what seemed like every nook and cranny of Thomas' clothing. Taking out his compass and noting the direction he decided that the best thing to do was ride through the forest and (hopefully) come out the either side and nearer to his home. Setting off with new resolve Thomas rode straight for half an hour before consulting with the compass again. _But… that can't be right._ He thought in surprise. For where the compass had dutifully shown him travelling south only what seemed a moment ago the compass seemed to have changed its mind and decided that he was now going east instead. Determined not to lose his head, or his way, he attached the compass to the reins but it was no use, one moment the compass would point south, the next west. Spinning erratically Thomas threw it back into his bag in disgust and looked up, hoping to catch a brief glint of sky. If he could just find the north star he'd be back on track, but the sky failed him too for not a single piece of it could be seen. Looking from side to side a tiny thread of panic began to wind its way around his stomach. Taking a deep breath Thom decided the only thing to do was move forward.

Hours later and still there was no sign of a beginning or end to the trees. Slipping off his horse he had to grab onto the saddle for balance he was so lightheaded and tired. His provisions were gone and he didn't think he was ever going to get out of this blasted forest. _I'm going to die here. _The thought struck him without warning and he closed his eyes, wishing someone would help him. _Don't be so pessimistic_ a tiny voice said in his mind, it sounded terribly like his sister, _What would we put on your headstone? 'Here lies Thomas Gibson, died in a forest because he's an idiot'_. He smiled at that, it was exactly what Anne would say. Feeling a little strength come back to him he opened his eyes and began to move forward when something off to the left caught his eye. It was a wall, a large grey one with strands of ivy crawling all over it that stretched as far down as he could see both ways but that was impossible it wasn't a wall, this was merely a figment of his imagination brought on by too little food or sleep. People didn't just build random walls in the middle of nowhere. But still he approached the barrier tentatively and ran a hand across the stones while he walked parallel to it. It certainly felt like a real wall and as far as he knew hallucinatory walls didn't usually leave you with dirty hands. He continued to follow it for ten minutes or so until he came to a large wrought iron gate, looking through the bars what he saw made him gasp.


	10. A Mistake

**Thank you to bookworm8080 for your motivational review! **

**Chapter X- A Mistake**

It was a castle, almost as wide as it was tall with windows reflecting back the grey sky high above. Thomas looked at the structure in shock, wondering how he could have missed such a large building from further away. A place like this, with its high towers and spiraling battlements should have been spotted from miles around and yet he'd almost run into the very gates of the place before noticing it at all. Hands still wrapped around the iron bars he pushed ever so slightly and to his surprise the gate opened with ease. He pushed it open a little further so that his horse might also be able to slip through but, tugging on the reins the horse set his hooves into the dirt and refused to move an inch inside the gate. For all his pulling and goading the horse refused to go.

"Stupid animal." Thomas muttered while he tied the reins to the gate before closing it behind him. "If you want to stay out here all day, fine, but I'm going in." And he set off down towards the castle.

As he walked it seemed as if his footsteps were being magnified, the whole place was deathly still. Looking around at the various trees and foliage made him shiver involuntarily, it was all dead, the trees were dry and skeletal and more ivy, this time brown, wrapped around different statues littering the grounds. One of the sculptures, with its upturned face and reaching hands clawing the sky looked as if it were drowning, being tugged back into the earth by the veins of the plant wrapped around its body. He was starting to wonder if it was such a good idea to be in this abandoned place and might it just be better to take his chances out in the forest? But by then he was at the front doors of the place. It would be a waste of time to walk all the way back without at least going inside, maybe there was some sort of water pump in the kitchens he could use. And even if the place was deserted, something Thomas felt was more and more likely with each passing second, then at least he could climb up to one of those towers and get a feel as to which way he should go or, at the very least, grab a few blankets and rest in an actual bed for before starting up once more.

Walking into the great hall he marveled at the huge size of the place. Their old home in the city could have fit comfortably inside just this space alone.

"Hello?" He called out, he waited for a few moments but the only voice that answered him was the echo of his own. Taking a few steps forward he caught sight of a door off to his right that was slightly ajar and decided that it was as good a place as any to explore first. Cracking it open a bit more before peeking inside he couldn't believe what he was seeing and actually had to blink a few times to assure his mind that this was real. Walking inside the dining room he was met with a huge fireplace, the large fire crackled merrily as some of the burning logs shifted slightly inside. Roughly, he sat down at one of the seats at the long table and looked around himself. If he hadn't been sure he was hallucinating before he knew it now. The whole table was filled to breaking point with food enough to appease a giant army. Roasted chicken glistening with fat and herbs, butter melting in a small pool on top of a bowl of mashed potatoes, rolls that, when Thomas bit into one, were filled with warm sauces, meats, and vegetables, gooseberry pie, thick cold milk, warm spiced wine, delicate pastries and ripe red apples. Without a second thought he had loaded his plate with whatever he could reach and began to stifle the hunger that had been tearing through his stomach for the past ten hours. Leaning back in his chair he sighed and closed his eyes. He was asleep in seconds.

* * *

Thomas awoke hours later to the sound of birds chirping. Yawning he stretched his arms and looked to see that all the uneaten food from the night before had disappeared and was replaced by cinnamon rolls, so warm that steam was still emanating from them as well as a platter of sausage links, bacon, and fresh fruit. Finding that his hunger had returned but was not as glaring as it had been the night before Thomas looked around at his surroundings as he ate his breakfast. Sitting with his back to the fire, he looked out at the gardens. As dead as they were the inside of the castle was clean and seemed lived in. He hoped that whoever owned this land wouldn't be too angry at his intrusion. The thought that an unseen someone might stumble upon him trespassing where he was not wanted suddenly made him hasty to leave and a little guilty that he had arrived at all. Walking back out into the dead gardens Thom made his way towards the gate, a few of the apples from last night in his jacket for the horse. But as he walked away from the castle he saw a flash of red and turned to see what it was. Moving towards the color he saw that he had been wrong. Not everything in the garden had withered away for before him stood a large bower of roses. Moving closer he bent his head to get a whiff of their scent before pulling back, contemplating. He had so hoped that when he'd received the ship cargo he would be able to surprise everyone with a gift or two when he came back but since that was impossible… taking out a small penknife he moved to cut a few roses for his sister. At least he wouldn't be coming back completely empty handed. But no sooner had he cut the first rose from its stem then a horrible voice spoke.

What do you think you're doing?" The voice whispered, it was the most terrible thing Thom had ever heard, a man's voice overlaid with the growls of some kind of wild animal. Feeling as if he had suddenly been thrust into a waking nightmare Thomas turned slowly around and saw a monster standing not five feet from where he stood. He gasped and the rose he'd just cut dropped from his hand

"I- I." Thom stuttered, but he couldn't seem to speak. The sight of the wild animal was too much for him. It was dressed like a man, in fine clothes of the darkest shade but no amount of fabric could disguise what it was. Everything from its claws and fangs to its slitted eyes screamed 'predator'.

* * *

Gregory seethed with rage. How _dare _this man steal from him? _I allow him in and what does he do? He steals from me_. Staring down at this tall man with gold in his hair and fear in his eyes he was suddenly struck with how familiar the face was and he wondered why, then it came to him. Richard. That's who he reminded him of. And his rage increased. It wasn't going to happen, not again. He wasn't going to let another person take from him the one thing he had left.

"You- what?" He barked and the stranger cringed. "Decided the best payment you could give for my assistance was to steal the one thing I still care about? You'd be dead in those woods if it wasn't for me!" A part of Gregory told him he was being ridiculous, that there were many other roses. That this shouldn't matter. But he pushed the thought aside.

"No." The man gulped. "I'm sorry, I never thought anybody would care. I-."

"It doesn't matter what you thought, it doesn't change what I'm going to do to you." Gregory replied, taking a step towards him.

"Please." The stranger gasped, dropping to his knees. "Please, I'm sorry. Please." Gregory felt like he'd hit a wall and he remembered his last words to Richard all those years ago. _Please Richard. Please don't leave me like this._

* * *

"It was only a gift. Please, it was only meant as a gift." Thomas muttered as he knelt at the monster's feet, wishing as hard as he could that this was some sort of fevered dream.

"A gift?" The thing repeated suspiciously. "A gift for whom?"

Thomas looked up suddenly, maybe he still had a chance to convince it to show him some mercy. "My sister, my sister Anne." And he told the monster his story; how they had become bankrupt and forced to leave their home, that even now their last glimmer of hope had faded with the loss of the returning ship's cargo. "I just wanted to give her something that wasn't practical, or had some sort of purpose to it. She used to have rooms full of fine jewels and beautiful dresses and now she doesn't even have the smallest trinket to call her own. I didn't mean to anger you." He said, glancing quickly up at the beast before looking away again. "I only wanted to give her something that she would enjoy, so I wouldn't come back empty handed."

The animal stayed silent and Thomas added quickly. "But it doesn't matter. Here." He scooped up the rose and held it out towards the beast to take.

But this appeared to be the wrong thing to have done for the monster's eyes flashed and he said. "What do I want with it now? It's dead and broken, you've seen to that."

"I can pay you then." Thomas answered, fumbling with the bag of coins in his jacket, praying he had enough to appease the creature.

"I don't want your money."

"Then what do you want?" Thom cried.

The words the beast spoke next chilled him to his very core. "Your sister."

Thomas was on his feet in seconds, completely dumbstruck. "What?"

"Bring your sister to me…" But Thomas wouldn't let him finish.

"No, you cannot have her!" He yelled.

"EITHER SHE COMES OR YOU DIE!" The monster roared. But Thomas wouldn't back down, this wasn't his life they were talking of anymore it was Anne's. In his mind he saw her on the ground, hands raised for protection, begging for mercy while the beast stood over her, teeth bared ready to strike.

"Then you might as well kill me now." And if anything his voice sounded more dangerous in that moment than the beast's had. "For I will not let my sister sacrifice her life for something she did not do."

The monster didn't speak for a few moments, obviously shocked that this fragile human was defying him in the face of death. But then said, "If she decides…"

But Thomas refused to let him win. "She will not-"

"If she does." The beast thundered on. "She must do so from her own choosing, no one must force her. I'll give both you and her a month to decide. But if that time comes and neither of you has arrived, I will find you and I will kill you."

"Now go." He said, waving one clawed hand. "And do not forget."

"Then I will see you in a month." Thomas replied simply before slipping the rose into his belt. He watched the beast turn and walk away and only then did he sprint back towards the gate and his horse. Faster than he'd ever moved Thomas had the horse's reins untied and they both were racing back through the forest at a breakneck speed before finally coming out into open air once more.

But if Thomas hadn't run quite so fast he would've seen the beast walk a little distance before leaning heavily against a giant oak, running a hand over his face; and if his heart hadn't been drumming so hard in his ears that it blocked out all other sounds he might have heard the creature whisper to himself, "What have I done?"

**A/N: We're getting down to the nitty gritty! I kind of wanted to up the ante with this scene. In the traditional story it's Beauty's father that goes and gets lost before finding the castle. I felt like it was more likely that Thomas, being younger and more inexperienced would've gotten lost on his way back, plus he's closer to Anne. Also, you'll notice that Gregory never explicitly states that he will/won't hurt Anne if she does come. He wouldn't of course but Thomas doesn't know that and it's going to fuel his resolve even more to go back himself.**


	11. Out of Character

**Music: By the Canal with Pieter (Girl With a Pearl Earring Soundtrack). **

**I wanted something that sounded like it was trying to be very lighthearted at the beginning but ultimately gave up near the end to reflect Thomas' mood in this chapter. Does that sound right? Eh, whatever. Let's get on with it!**

**Chapter XI- Out of Character**

Anne peeked out the window for what felt like the hundredth time. _Where was he? _ She thought impatiently. Her brother was already late by a day and she was getting worried. But then a horrible smell reached her nose and she twisted away from the window just in time to see the smallest bit of smoke curling out of the already boiling pot in the fireplace. Cursing under her breath she quickly grabbed a towel and lifted the lid to see that her stew, which had been simmering expertly only a few moments ago had completely dissolved into a burning mass of spoiled filth. Scowling, she threw the lid back on and lifted the pot out of the fire. Walking across the room she opened the window as wide as it would go, hoping to get the scent of burning meat out of the kitchen when she spotted someone on a brown horse riding over the crest of the hill down towards their house.

"He's back." She said to herself, smiling, before racing out of the kitchen, the burnt stew forgotten. "He's baaaack!" She called out louder so that her parents could hear before opening the door and racing up the hill to meet her brother.

Seeing his sister Thomas' face split into a wide grin, dismounting quickly he ran to cover the distance between them and scooped her up in his arms, twirling her around in a small circle before setting her down again.

"How are you Anne?" He asked a little breathlessly.

"Alright." But then she frowned and went on worriedly. "Only I've just muddled up the stew beyond belief. I've spent all day trying to make something nice in case you came back today, and now it's ruined."

"Seems like I came back just in time then, eh?" He answered, smiling before walking back together, wrapping his arm around her, the horse trailing slowly after them.

"And judging by your fine clothes it seems we're as rich as we ever were." Anne teased, plucking at her brother's old travel stained jacket.

Thomas gave a heavy sigh and she instantly felt bad for making fun. "Almost everything was gone," he said tiredly. "The only cargo left had been completely flooded during a storm, nobody would've paid a shilling for it."

"It's fine." Anne said, giving him a quick hug. "We all knew that it was a slim chance at best." And as she pulled back again one of her fingers slightly stroked the smooth petals of the rose still tightly secure in Thomas' belt.

"But you didn't come home completely empty handed." She said, smiling up at him.

He gave her a puzzled look.

"In your belt." She said, nodding to the flower.

"Oh." He replied, taking the rose out. The fear and apprehension he had been battling with for the last few hours came rushing back to him with full force as he handed the flower to Anne. "Here, I picked it for you." He said, trying to bring back the smile that had been on his face a few moments ago.

Anne took it, bringing it close to her nose to smell. "Where did you find one so near to winter?" She asked, twirling it between her fingers as she spoke.

Thomas shrugged, trying to think of an excuse that wouldn't sound too far-fetched. "They were growing on a bush not far from here." He said, keeping his voice light. "I thought you might like one so…" and he motioned to the cut flower in her hand.

Anne looked at Thom out of the corner of her eye. Something seemed…off. She didn't know how to explain it but she felt as if he wasn't telling her everything, but it was just a flower after all, what more was there to say? Just then their parents came out to greet them and she shrugged off her apprehension. He was probably still upset about how poorly his journey to the city had been. Their father tied the horse away and they all went inside together.

* * *

As the weeks went by Thom did nothing to assuage the suspicions Anne began having that something was wrong. Every time she saw him he looked a little paler than the time before. He would be in the middle of a simple chore before suddenly breaking it off, staring silently out the window, sometimes for minutes on end before suddenly going back to the task at hand with even greater force than before. She heard him at night before she went to bed, through the thin walls his voice would travel up to her. He would mutter constantly, always the same thing: "Don't, please, it was me. Don't, don't...please." And strangest of all was the way he watched her, silently standing in the background. Often times she would look up from the pot she was scrubbing or the flower beds she was clearing outside their house and Thom was suddenly there, standing and staring at her with such an expression of anguished horror that you'd have thought she was a phantom of some sort instead of a living breathing human being. She would ask him, at these moments what was wrong? Was there something that was worrying him? But he would always shake her off, tell her it was nothing or look at her, perplexed, and ask her what she meant.

"What could be wrong?" He'd say with a smile that began to look more and more forced as the days passed on.

_That's exactly what I want to know._ Anne thought to herself.

* * *

A few days later Anne returned early from the market and, setting down the basket she'd brought with her, opened her mouth to call out that she was home but suddenly she heard raised voices in the hallway and she closed her mouth quickly before slowly moving towards the noise. It was coming from her parents' bedroom and sounded like they were shouting at each other while at the same time trying to be as quiet as possible about it.

"I don't believe it, this is all completely impossible." Her father said, and she could hear him pacing the room.

"I wish it were." She heard Thom's voice answer. "Don't you know how much I want all this to be some sort of dream? But it isn't. And I have to go back." She realized with a jolt that this wasn't just her mother and father having a small row, something that would be forgotten in a few hours. It had to do with how strangely her brother had been acting. But go back where, what were they talking about?

Suddenly she heard muffled sobs off to her right and realized with shock that it was her mother. Crouching down she looked through the keyhole and saw her sitting on the bed, crying into a handkerchief. "But we can't just let you go." She said, gasping for breath. Anne stood up quickly, her hand on the doorknob. She wanted to go in, make them tell her what was going on. Thomas' voice stopped her as he said, "I've told you there's nothing else we can do. Do you really want me to give him what he wants? Because it's not me, I can promise you that." And with those words her mother sobbed even harder.

"No, no. You're right, we can't do that." Her father agreed. "But neither can we just sit here and allow you to go on yourself. Perhaps if we…"

"There's no point to it!" Thom said in a frustrated voice. "If you had seen what I saw you'd know there was no point to it."

There was a silence and then, very gently, her father said, "Son you've got to tell her, at the very least."

But at this Thomas became even angrier. "No. No, she cannot know, you swore you wouldn't tell her!"

"I know," her father continued patiently. "Because she has the right to hear it from you."

Hearing footsteps Anne leapt as quietly as she could away from the door and around a corner, praying her brother would go in the opposite direction. She breathed a sigh of relief as she heard his footsteps move away and not towards her hiding spot.

* * *

Sitting in her room later Anne turned the conversation she'd overheard around and around in her head, trying to piece it all together. It was clear that there was something Thom was refusing to tell her, but her father thought that perhaps she should know. Shifting onto her side she thought of approaching them all tomorrow, telling them she knew there was something very wrong and demanding they explain everything, but decided against it. She told herself it was because she didn't want them knowing she'd been snooping on what was obviously a very private conversation but deep down she knew that it wasn't that she was afraid of what they wouldn't tell her but of what they would. _If no one mentions it I won't bring it up. _She told herself before falling into a fitful sleep, wishing that someone would mention it while at the same time praying they would not.

* * *

Sitting outside the next day Anne was staring off into space thinking of nothing in particular (or at least trying not to) when suddenly Thom was at her side.

"Anne?" he said, looking more grim than she'd ever seen him before.

"Yes?" She answered; her heart beating furiously inside her chest.

"I need to talk to you." Thom said, taking her hand and pulling her up. "Not here though." He added, glancing at the windows of their house. "Come with me." And together they set off, Anne trailing behind her brother, hand clenched in his.

**A/N: A little short but I decided to make their conversation it's very own chapter so I wouldn't have to shorten it at all. A lot of stuff's about to happen… Stay tuned! Please review if you like. **

**P.S. Chapter title refers to how Thom is acting, it's the best I could do! **


	12. Promises and Lies

**Music: The Gravel Road (from The Village soundtrack) by James Newton Howard**

**Chapter XII-Promises and Lies**

It was only as they reached the crest of the hill that Thomas let go of her hand. Anne stopped and watched as her brother continued walking for a few paces before stopping and staring out at the landscape, his back to her. Anne stood very still, hands clasped in front of her as a chill breeze came and twirled her skirts back and forth, her hair obscuring her face one moment then being pushed away from it the next. She didn't know what to stay so she stayed silent, looking at her brother as he ran a hand through his hair before turning to look at her.

"Whatever happened to that flower I gave you?" He asked suddenly. Anne raised an eyebrow, whatever she had been expecting it hadn't been that.

"It's dead." She told him simply. "It's been wilting for the past couple days but it turned almost completely brown yesterday."

"Dead." Thom repeated and for some reason the thought made him laugh a little. "Yes, it would be wouldn't it?"

Anne didn't say anything and after a few moments Thomas continued. "I wasn't completely honest, you know, about how I came by that rose."

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't find it on some stray bush on my way back. I found it at a castle."

Anne stared at him, why was he making up something up like this? She started to get angry. _I've been worrying about him for days on end and he's going to feed me some fairy story about roses in a castle? _ She thought in frustration. Seeing her expression Thomas held up a hand.

"Let me explain." He said quickly. And he told her all about riding through the storm and getting lost in the forest before coming across a castle hidden between the trees. "It was beautiful inside, I spent the night there. The horse refused to go in though, but I didn't realize why until it was too late."

"What do you mean?" Anne asked worriedly, still not sure if she completely believed what he was saying. "What happened?"

"I was walking back towards the gate, everything around me was dead, it was so unnerving, and then I saw the roses." Her brother started to look desperate. "I didn't know, Anne. I didn't know I wasn't to touch them."

He looked so lost and it scared her. This was her brother, the one who'd broken the nose of Lord Prescott's son when, as a child, he'd pushed her face first into a mud puddle. She'd seen him thrown from a half crazed horse only to brush himself off and laugh about it a few seconds later. He'd never been scared of anything in his whole life, so what was it now that had him looking so frightened?

"I saw them and I thought of you, thought you might like a few for planting. So I took one. The next thing I knew there was this… this monster standing next to me."

He took a shuddering breath and before she could say anything continued. "He was dressed like a person, but he had claws and-and fangs." Thom paused to take another breath. "He was so angry, told me that I'd stolen from him. That- that…" and he turned away, crossing his arms over his chest.

"What did he say?" Anne whispered.

He looked back at her and there were tears in his eyes. "He said he was going to kill me." Thom answered in a voice as soft as hers.

Anne flinched and felt as if someone had slapped her in the face. A monster in a castle? It was ludicrous, if her brother hadn't looked so scared and serious she wouldn't have believed a word of it. Monsters, real monsters didn't exist. They were made-up stories and half truths created to frighten children into behaving and going to bed quietly. Only liars and fools spoke of monsters as if they were real. But as she looked at her brother, remembered the way his eyes were always twitching towards the King's Forest and back she suddenly remembered the story Mr. Bishop had told her so many months before.

_That's The King's Forest. The whole place is haunted…a terrible monster came and killed him. Ate him up in one swallow…. _

"But… but isn't there something we can do?" Anne asked in an urgent voice. "Maybe if we tried-"

"There isn't." Thom said, slowly shaking his head. "He told me I could spend a month with my family and then I had to go back."

"Then run away." Anne told him, starting to cry. "Don't stay here, just go."

"I can't, he'll look for me, he'll come here and try to track me down."

"Then we'll lie; say we don't know where you've gone. Or we can… or we can…" But her brain didn't seem to be functioning properly, it was like everything was slowly closing in on her, her sobbing had grown louder now. She felt like she was suffocating and her hands shook as she tried to remember how to breathe. And then, like a marionette whose puppeteer had suddenly let go of the strings, Anne dropped to the ground

Thom knelt down quickly grabbing her arms and she reflexively clutched his. "I'm going to go back." He told her, he sounded calm but his voice still shook as he said the words. "In two days I'll go and then… and then it'll be over." Anne couldn't think what to say, her heart was pounding in her head and with each beat all she heard was _Dead. Dead. Dead. _

She shook her head. "We have to do something Thom, there must something we can do."

"There isn't." He said and still his voice was deathly calm, as if he had already given up, as if all he was doing now was waiting, waiting for it to come.

"No!" She said, standing suddenly. "No, there must be something! Something we're overlooking there's got to be another way."

"Anne, please." Thom said, standing up as well. "Please just come back inside with me."

"I will not!" She shouted, feeling hysterical. "Not until we figure this out Thom. There must be some other choice besides this."

"I cannot think of the alternative." Thom said, quietly, almost to himself. Anne had begun to pace but at his words her head snapped back to look at her brother.

"What did you say?" She asked.

He looked up at her, a worried expression on his face. "I said 'I cannot think of an alternative'. I've been trying for weeks, believe me."

"No." Anne said, feeling as if she had just caught a rope that had been thrown to her. "No, you said you couldn't consider _the _alternative. As if there already was one." She moved closer to him. "What are you not telling me Thom? What is this other choice?"

"There aren't any choices Anne." And he began walking away from her, but she blocked his path and gripped his shoulders so he couldn't turn away. "Tell me, tell me what it is."

"No." He said, no longer pretending he didn't know what she was referring to. "I can't Anne. I can't."

"You can and you will." But he remained silent. "Tell me!" She screamed, shaking his shoulders.

"He wants _you_, Anne!" He yelled and it sounded as if his words were being ripped from his chest.

Anne's eyes went wide and her hands dropped away from him."What?"

"He wants you." Thom repeated and he looked suddenly as if he were exhausted. "I told him who the rose was for and he told me that in return for it he wanted you. That's why I was allowed to come back Anne. So we could make our 'decision'." He scoffed at the word. "But there is no decision; there is no choice in this matter. I am going and no one else." And brushing past her he quickly walked away and back towards the house.

She watched him as he moved quickly down the hill before going into the house and slamming the door behind him. Sitting down she stared at the massive expanse of forest only so far away and began to cry, wishing that they'd never come to this place and were still far away and safe in their home in the city. But despite her tears and the horror that was slowly growing inside her as she thought of how this impossible thing could be true she suddenly heard a small yet calm voice whisper to her. "He must not go." She glanced up to see who had spoken and realized it had been herself. Standing up she wiped the tears from her face. She stayed outside until her red rimmed eyes became clear again but as she walked back towards the house she repeated the words to herself, like they were some sort of magic spell that would protect her. _He must not go_.

* * *

The next night as Anne lay in bed she heard a soft creaking noise coming from above her. Opening her window and holding onto either side she craned her neck out to see Thom sitting on the house a few feet away from her room. Climbing up onto the ledge she grabbed the rafters and heaved herself up, knowing that if she fell the drop wouldn't be too dangerous. Delicately she sat down next to her brother and put her head on his shoulder. Without looking down he took her hand and held it tightly in his.

"What are you doing?" She asked him softly. Since their conversation on the hill they'd hardly spoken at all. The whole family would simply sit and let the silence cover everything. Nobody wanted to say a word because it would somehow mean admitting what was going to happen, the finality of what Thom's decision meant for them all.

"I came up to watch the sunset. He answered, shifting his feet a little.

They didn't speak after that, just sat together and watched the moon as it went slowly across the sky.

"I'm going to miss you Anne." Thom said, still not looking at her. He felt that if he did we would begin to cry and he didn't want her to see that, wanted her to remember him as brave.

"You know you don't have to go." Anne replied, and though her voice was soft the determination was still there and the little voice in her head whispered once more _He must not go_.

"You know I've already made up my mind."

"But Thom if I…"

"No, Anne." His voice was still quiet but an edge had come into his words. "You're not paying the price for something I did." And suddenly turning towards her he wrapped her in his arms and they held each other as tears began to drop down Anne's face. "Please don't bring it up again." He said, pulling away so he could look her in the eye. "Please don't try and stop me from going."

Seeing the desperation written on his face Anne knew that it was no use trying to persuade him. And because she couldn't bring herself to look him straight in the face and lie she hugged him again and whispered in his ear, "I promise."

* * *

**A/N: Jeez, I don't know about the rest of you but I sure as hell feel depressed. I never understood why in the original story the father is so forthcoming about what happens at the Beast's castle. And I always felt that in a way he was subconsciously guilting his daughter into going in his place by basically telling her "I'm going to die if you don't go." So here Thom tries really hard not to tell her until it just pops out. I'm no doctor but I'm gonna go ahead and say that's due to a combo of emotional stress, guilt about lying to his sister, and anger that she keeps bugging him about it. Oh and Thom feels like the flower is representing his lifespan right now, that's why he's laughing (ironically) when she says it's dead. SYMBOLISM! **


	13. The Castle in the Forest

**Jeez you guys are great! Thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing and favoriting and everything else. It's awesome. **

**Music: What Are You Asking Me by James Newton Howard **

**Chapter XIII- The Castle in the Forest **

Anne didn't sleep that night. Lying on her bed she waited in the dark for what felt like hours until finally she heard the creak of the beams shifting above her and then the dim thud of a window being shut. Straining to hear in the darkness she listened and waited for Thom to fall asleep, finally all noises subsided and she knew instinctively that she was the only one still awake. _It has to be at least two in the morning. _She thought to herself, but it didn't matter. If she didn't leave now she might not get another chance, might not take hold of it if another one was presented to her. Trying not to think about what she was doing and instead going through the motions of it all Anne slowly sat up and unlaced her boots before slipping off the bed in her stockinged feet. She'd put them on again once she left the house. Reaching under her bed she grabbed the small bag of food she'd hidden there earlier that day before slowly walking over to her door and opening it, muttering a silent thank you that it hadn't creaked as it so often did.

As silent as she was being Anne felt as if everyone in the house should be able to hear her very heartbeat as it thrummed inside her chest and expected one of them to catch her at any moment, but she didn't hear a sound and quickly escaped outside into the fresh air. Moving fast she crept to the side of the house where no one could see her before sitting down and sliding her already chilled feet into her boots and lacing them up tight. Checking that no one was around she walked fast down the lane and towards the forest, looking back every now and again to make sure no one was watching her through their window. With the house out of sight and the forest coming steadily closer Anne started to run, the bag banging against her leg with every step. After passing the first then second row of trees she finally allowed herself to slow down and catch her breath. Looking back she prayed that no one would wake up and notice her absence til morning. She could only see one or two winking lights of the town from where she stood, but even that small sight made her breath catch and she turned and walked quickly away from it all before she could change her mind and sneak back into her home and underneath the warm covers that she knew would be waiting for her there. Unfortunately this wasn't something she could hide from, this wasn't an imaginary boogeyman that would leave her alone if she closed her eyes for long enough. So she continued to slog through the forest until the sun broke out over the tree tops and flung itself down onto the ground in random patches, creating an intricate quilt of golds, browns, and greens.

* * *

It wasn't until mid-afternoon that Anne finally stopped walking; taking out some bread and cheese from her bag she ate under the shade of a great elm tree and rested. They'd all know by now that she was gone and her stomach tightened at the thought of what Thom would do when he realized she'd broken her promise. If she knew her brother he would have saddled up the horse and gone straight into the forest to find her. Every time a twig broke or the leaves of a tree rustled she would pause and look around her, sure that Thom had found her before she had even spotted the castle, sometimes Anne even thought she heard her name being called and she would quicken her pace, not knowing if her mind was simply playing tricks on her or not.

But quickening her pace didn't seem to be doing anything except moving her further towards nowhere. Where exactly was this mystical palace she was supposed to be looking for? Her brother had found it by accident the first time so how was she supposed to find it by device? She'd heard stories at different times in her life of various magical objects or places, holy grails and whatnot that couldn't be found unless they wanted to be. Maybe that was the key to it. _Of course it could just be that you have absolutely no sense of direction. _She thought to herself before stretching and setting off once more.

It wasn't until she looked around and realized how dark it had become that Anne really started to become nervous. Her food supply was dwindling and if she didn't find at least some sort of shelter fairly soon she was probably going to… to what? Wait for someone to rescue her? Not likely. And she thought of how pointless it would be to die trying to arrive at a castle so a monster could kill her. She laughed at the morbid ridiculousness of it, knowing that it wasn't really funny at all. Stumbling further and further into the forest, something, she didn't know quite what, made her turn and she saw it. Standing before her were the great iron gates her brother had told her about and off in the distance was the tall imposing structure of a castle in the forest. She came up and wrapped her hands around the cool bars and looked at the place. _This is it you know_. She told herself. _There's no going back after this. _"I guess so." She said aloud, before opening the gate and going inside.

The moon had come up and created a blue ethereal glow to the bone white statues she passed in the gardens. Trying as hard as she could she took the path that would allow her to skirt around these carvings, they made her nervous and seemed to twitch and move in the moonlight. When she reached the great oak doors leading inside the castle she took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was about to happen before walking in, palms sweating and teeth clenched, Anne didn't see a single soul, monster or man. Instead she stood and gaped at the entrance hall she was standing in. Far away stood a flight of stairs leading to a huge landing, a staircase on either side, each twisting up to the second floor, huge marble columns stood all around her, supporting a very high vaulted ceiling, candlelight glinted off the stones and she could see intricate carvings on each one. On either side of her there were doors but there was only one that was opened. Crossing carefully over to it, senses heightened towards breaking point Anne peeked inside the room only to realize that it didn't hold a caged animal or a wall of torture devices like she was imagining but a dining room with a crystal chandelier glinting gold and white above a long mahogany table.

Walking towards the sweet aroma of warm food a shiver suddenly trickled down her spine despite the warmth emanating from the huge stone fireplace. There were two places set at the table. Dropping her bag at her side Anne sat down with a thud, exhausted, scared, and hungry. It was just about the worst combination of feelings Anne had ever felt. _Well at least I can take care of the last one_. She thought, reaching for a grape near her, but as she brought the fruit to her lips an unwelcome thought came to her, as such things usually do in an already unwelcome situation. _Poison_. She thought before hastily dropping the grape back down into its bowl and wiping her hand hurriedly against the fabric of her dress. But no, that was silly. If it was all poisoned then why had two settings been placed? But her overtired brain quickly jumped to the next horrible idea. A story her mother had told her once about a woman who had been kidnapped and ate the food her captor had given her, only realizing too late that the food had been cursed and she was forced to stay with the man forever.

Feeling restless Anne stood up again, grabbing the now empty bag she'd brought with her as she went, for no other reason than to have something familiar close by for reassurance. Almost more than anything she wanted to sleep, drift away for a little while and face all of this uncertainty in the daylight. But it was impossible, she had to know, had to face what was going to happen to her. As she stood behind her chair, the fire casting shadows on her face a sound, like the click of a door opening, suddenly cut her train of thought and she looked up, heart beating fast to see what it might have been but the corners of the large room seemed to be completely filled with shadows. Hands shaking Anne gripped the polished cherry wood of the chair and squinted at the corner she thought the sound had traveled from.

"Who is that?" She said, trying with all her might to keep her voice from shaking. There was a pause as the faintest echo of her words shivered through the air and for a blissful moment Anne experienced a wave of relief, there wasn't anybody there it was just her nerves getting the better of her. But then a voice answered hers and Anne's grasp on the chair tightened to the point where she was quite sure it would crack and splinter underneath her fingertips, for the sound was unlike any she had ever heard. And it rasped out in a deep voice.

"The one your brother met in the gardens."

Anne's breathing came out in quick short gasps, as if someone had filled her lungs with sawdust and she felt that if she didn't get control very soon she was in great danger of fainting. As she tried to think of something to say while burying the disconcerting feeling she'd begun to have that the unknown speaker was watching her in the dark the voice spoke again.

"You are his sister." The voice prompted her, and it was a statement, not a question.

"I am." She agreed, eyes flitting back and forth as she tried to find the direct source of the voice. _Such a strange voice_. She thought. _Like listening to a bear talk. _

"Have you come here willingly, and of your own choosing?" The voice asked.

Anne hesitated, what if she lied? Told him, no, she hadn't chosen to come herself. Would he let her go? But she quickly shook off the ridiculous idea. _The whole point of this is for Thom._ She reminded herself. _You're doing this for him. _"Yes." She said aloud. "Yes I have."

But seeming to read her thoughts the voice growled a warning. "I shall know if you are lying."

Anne's eyes flashed and her fear turned briefly to anger. What did it matter if the victim was willing to die or not? The outcome would be the same either way.

"Then you should know better than anyone that I'm telling the truth." She said, an accusing tone to her voice. "Only one person forced me to come here and it was not my brother." Looking down at her white knuckles Anne thought sadly of Thom, how afraid and determined he'd been these past few days to go himself and keep her safe. "He-he actually made me promise him that this was the one thing I wouldn't do."

"And yet you're here." The voice replied, did it seem softer than before? No. That must be her imagination.

"Sometimes it's more important to break a promise than it is to keep it." She replied. And then the voice said something that shocked her so much that her grip loosened on the chair and her hands dropped to their sides.

"You're very brave Anne." The voice said and she looked down, each hand now holding the other in front of her staring at the floor and her hands and anything else that might make her forget that this voice could see her but she couldn't see it.

"No I'm not." And she said it in a sad sort of way, wishing that she really were brave like those heroes in a story who walked into the mouth of the dragon's cave without a second thought or shiver in their hands. She wasn't brave she was just doing… just doing what she had to.

The unseen person broke through her thoughts once more. "You said your brother hadn't forced you to come, but rather someone else had. Who?"

Closing her eyes she wished she could have taken her words back. Wished he wouldn't have asked. "You did." She told him. "You made us chose and I would not, could not let him go. So I came instead."

At this the silence enveloped everything once again, even the crackling of the flames was more subdued, she thought and Anne searched for something else to say. "Why are you…" She started but broke off quickly, realizing she had been about to say 'hiding'. Knowing that wouldn't have been the wisest choice of words she quickly amended it. "Why are you standing in the dark?" She asked, feeling that she couldn't carry on much longer without seeing the speaker's face.

"My appearance is…." The voice growled, and Anne felt he was choosing his words carefully. "…unnerving. I did not want to alarm you with it. At least until you had a proper warning."

Squaring her shoulders Anne looked into the darkness and said. "I think I would like to see you sooner, rather than later if it's all the same to you."

There was a short pause before the voice said again, "You are very brave Anne." Before slowly stepping out of the darkness and standing so that the firelight showed his face.

She'd only meant to take a step back, shocked at what she was seeing, but she moved too fast and one foot caught on the other, sending her sprawling. She tried to grab hold of the chair in an attempt to regain her balance but it fell with her and hit the floor with a deadening crash. The… the thing in front of her took a step forward, arm outstretched but Anne held up a hand and turned her face away from his. "No. Don't." She gasped. After a few deep breaths she looked back and saw that he had stopped and was simply staring at her. Each of them were completely frozen, looking like they were figures in some gothic oil painting.

Anne stared at the… the what? Monster? Animal? Man? She couldn't decide, each description intermingled with the next. He was dressed like a person, with a rich black jacket to match equally dark pants and riding boots. But the parts of him not covered in clothing were instead covered in thick fur of a deep brown color. Short claws extended from each finger tip and his eyes were a brownish gold color that would have been almost human if not for the fact that the pupil was a dark slit, like someone had run a knife through each eye, to let the darkness seep out.

She wanted desperately to stand up, to be afraid on her feet as opposed to quivering on the floor, but all she seemed to be able to manage was a position between sitting and kneeling. And before she could stop herself the question she'd really wanted to ask, the one she'd dreaded hearing the answer to finally sprang out.

"What are you going to do to me?"

He looked at her, was that confusion on his face? She couldn't be sure. "What do you mean?" He asked.

"What do I mean?" Anne repeated, leaning forward. "I mean you were going to kill my brother," She saw him flinch at the words. "Because he stole a rose. I'm the one the rose was meant for, I'm the one that's here now, not him." She realized how loud her voice was and lowered it slightly. "What are you going to do to me?" She asked again, hating how hopeless her voice sounded.

The creature shook his head, a horrified look on his face. "Nothing, Anne. Nothing."

"Nothing?" Anne said, as if she'd forgotten what the word meant and was trying to piece together a quick definition for herself. "But you were going to kill my brother." She said, confused. She thought she knew the game they were playing but now everything seemed wrong side up.

The creature sighed and said in a cautious sort of way. "I spoke in anger when I said those things to your brother. If he had come I would not have hurt him."

Hearing this Anne finally rose to her feet. "So this has all been… what?" She cried, to shocked and angry to be scared anymore. "A test? To prove that we may be thieves but we are not liars. Well?" She said, spreading her arms out, inviting him to inspect her more closely. "Have I passed?" And she spat the words out at him before dropping her arms and adding in a quieter voice. "Can I go?"

"No." He said and she turned away trying to fight down the sob that had escaped into her throat. "I still require payment for my rose-."

"Fine." Anne said, turning back to look at him. She felt so tired. _I just want to go home. _She thought to herself, and it made her want to cry. But she wasn't going to cry, not in front of _him_. "It doesn't matter."

Closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths Anne said, "I think I'd just like to go to bed if it's all the same to you."

He nodded. "Come with me then."

Walking back into the entrance hall Anne felt slightly better but that wasn't saying much. _At least it's over_. She thought with a sigh of relief. _And you're still alive aren't you? That's something. _Reaching one of the two large sweeping staircases her companion stopped and stood next to the banister.

"After you." He said, gesturing one large hand forwards.

Anne gulped and began to walk up the stairs.

**A/N: Well progress has definitely been achieved! I hope everyone has liked this conversation between them, I've been planning it in my head for months now. I'm pretty sure I could repeat it in my sleep. More to come soon. Hope everyone is enjoying everything so far! **


	14. Uncertainty

XIV- Uncertainty

_Molly is a Dreamer by Phillip Glass_

Walking slowly up the staircase Anne tried to keep her breathing steady while every muscle in her body was taut, waiting for the signal to run. She was finding it hard to remain calm when her mind kept imagining the animal behind her suddenly leaping towards her unprotected shoulders and neck, sinking its claws deep into her skin. Suddenly Anne was jolted back into reality when she saw that they had reached the top of the stairs. Feeling a slight breeze at her side Anne realized the beast had swept right past her and down the hall. She stared dumbly after him for a few seconds before hurrying to keep up. If there was one thing worse than following after this creature it would be to lose her way, unaware of when or where she might bump into him again. But she didn't have very far to go, at the end of the hall, the beast suddenly stopped at a door and, opening it, stood next to its frame, watching and waiting for her approach. He nodded to the entryway.

"This is your room." He said, and Anne noticed that after the large echoes of the dining hall his voice was relatively softer than she had first experienced, though nothing could take away from the deep rumble that always followed his words, hinting that a roar might never be far behind.

Trying to keep a space between her and the animal without being to obvious about it Anne quickly walked past him and into the bedroom. She couldn't help but gasp as she looked around and above her at the beautiful place she had entered. The main room was huge, the walls were rounded and made completely of marble that gleamed in the soft candlelight emanating from various golden sconces placed throughout the room as well as within a fireplace carved out of the same color stone. Tapestries hugged the walls around her depicting elegant crests and flourishes. The ceiling above was a large glass dome braced with golden beams in between panes allowing her to watch the clouds drift by, even giving her a slight peak at the moon glowing between a few distant stars. The whole place was more beautiful and polished than anything she had ever seen in her life. For a few moments Anne could do nothing but stand in the midst of it all, until the beast's harsh voice drew her away from the dark sky and back into reality.

"Do you like it?" He asked from his post by the doorframe.

"Yes." Anne nodded, her voice coming out a little breathless. "It's… it's wonderful. I've never had anything so wonderful."

"I'm glad. And if there's anything here," He said, sweeping his arm out across the length of the room. "That you don't like, or displeases you at all, tell me and it can be changed."

"No, everything's lovely…And thank you." She said after a pause, "I was not expecting…._a beautiful room instead of a dungeon, gold ceilings instead of iron bars_…. I was not expecting this."

"I know." And his voice startled her with the sadness it held.

They stood for a few moments, awkwardly facing each other as Anne tried not to make it too obvious that she was staring at anything but the beast before her.

"Anne, may I ask you a question?" He said abruptly.

She thought about it for a moment, wondering if it would be too rude to simply say 'no'. _But what harm could a simple little question be?_ A small voice in her mind asked and despite her misgivings she gave a shrug and nodded. "Alright," she said.

"Will you marry me?"

Anne couldn't breathe. Whatever she had been expecting it hadn't been this. She tried to get her mouth to work but as soon as she did her voice died in her throat. Each second was its own eternity, but finally she was able to choke out a single word.

"Why?" She pleaded.

"I cannot say." The beast said simply. She looked, at him confused by his plain answer. What new game was this? she wondered, trying hard not to cry. After all that had happened, she just wanted it to end, when was this nightmare going to be over? When would she be allowed to wake up?

"What will happen if I say 'yes'?" She tried hard to keep her voice from shivering without much success.

"I would be very happy, and I would try to see to it that you were happy as well." He answered. She tried to listen to the cadence of his voice, judge by the look in his eye to discover if he was being truthful, dishonest, or simply sarcastic but it was too hard to tell so she just stood and let the words wash over her for what they were.

"And if I say 'no'?" She asked, raising her chin a little, a small spark of flame flickering in her eyes.

Walking a little further into the room the beast said gently, "Anne for all intents and purposes you are to be treated as a guest in this place. You may… go wherever you want, do whatever you like, say whatever you wish and you will not be punished for it. I know you cannot believe that," He added with a sigh. "But know it to be true."

"I cannot." Anne replied after a pause. The beast didn't ask if she was referring to his first question or his last statement. He knew she was speaking about both.

Nodding his head he turned and began to walk out of her room. "Goodnight then, Anne." He said before closing the door behind him.

"Goodnight." She said as the entrance slowly clicked into place. Trying not to breathe she listened as the beast's footsteps slowly receded into the distance. When Anne was sure that he was far enough away she slowly walked to one of the armchairs placed nearby the crackling fireplace and stared at the logs burning within wondering again and again _What's going to happen now?_

* * *

After walking a short distance Gregory allowed himself to stop and lean back against the wall. Closing his eyes he heaved a sigh, feeling a mixture of relief and guilt wash over him. He couldn't believe that after all this time… someone was here, a living breathing human being. He hadn't seen anyone in so long, spoken in so long. He'd felt himself slowly fading away over time, these last few years had been the worst: he would look down and realize he was walking on all fours like… well like a beast. Sometimes he would wake up in the morning trying and failing to remember the events of the day before, just emotions and senses coming to his mind. It scared him, this new and horrible change. He used to reassure himself that his appearance may have shifted but at least his mind was still his own. But now even that was ceasing to be true.

Talking to the woman when she arrived had been a struggle, standing upright had been a struggle and yet it was still so wonderful, even if her whole countenance projected nothing but fear and anger at him. Even this new mix of emotions was a welcome change to the simple nothing that had permeated throughout his life for the past years. She was smart, strong, able to hold her own. He just hoped she could stand living here.

Suddenly exhausted Gregory turned and walked slowly down halls and up stairs until he reached his own bedrooms. Laying himself down onto the soft featherbed he slowly closed his eyes, both hoping and fearing any dreams that might come. He was always himself again when he slept but usually that also meant Richard was there. Standing over him his brother would utter curses in a tongue Gregory couldn't understand and he would wake, gasping for air, a beast once more. _Maybe tonight will be different. _Gregory thought as he drifted off. _Other things have changed. Perhaps this will too. _

Wandering through her new rooms Anne looked at this and that, not really remembering what she saw. Running her fingers over the walls and its hangings her hand stopped when it reached a cherry wood wardrobe with gold handles. Pulling them open in a mechanical way she scanned the beautiful dresses and cloaks before pulling out a plain silk nightgown. Throwing her travel worn clothes on a nearby chair she threw it on before throwing herself onto the bed. Staring up at the stars glittering behind the ceiling she knew she wouldn't fall asleep that night. Not with all that had happened. But as the glittering points in the sky shifted their course across the inky darkness Anne's eyes slowly began to close until she had slipped out of consciousness completely.

* * *

"Are you afraid of him?"

They were sitting side by side in the gardens. Anne stared ahead at the roses covering one of the statues in front of her. They seemed to twirl up and around the statue like two dancers on a stage.

"Yes." She replied. Turning she saw that the young man was looking at her steadily and suddenly her eyes were filling up with tears and she couldn't look away. "I just - I don't know what he wants from me. What if he kills me? He won't tell me why I'm here and what if that's it? I'm not going to die here. Not for a rose."

Shaking his head the man leaned in closer until their brows were almost touching. "He's not going to kill you. " He said, eyes boring into hers.

"But what if…"

"No." He said, cutting her off in a stern voice. "He won't. And even if he wanted to I wouldn't let him. I promise you, I won't let him."

Slowly Anne nodded her head and together they turned and looked out at the garden surrounding them.

"Maybe he's lonely. Maybe he just wants someone to be with." The young man said in a faint voice, as if he were very far away.

"Lonely?" Anne said in disbelief. "You think he's doing all this because he's lonely?"

The young man only shrugged in a halfhearted sort of way. "No telling what a desperate person might do."

"I suppose everything needs some companionship." But even as she said it Anne couldn't quite believe the Beast had gone through all this trouble because he wanted a talking companion. "But it doesn't excuse it." She said, her voice sharp once again and she thought she saw the young man cringe slightly at her voice. "It doesn't excuse anything."

* * *

**A/N: So that was fun. Going back to the old story where he proposes every night to her. Also, didn't know if it was obvious or not but the whole conversation Anne and the "young man" have is a dream. The idea is that with this magic Gregory possess he sort of accidentally runs into Anne's subconscious and they're having this conversation together, the convo starts in the middle (them seeming to know ea. other) b/c dreams usually don't have a beginning- at least mine don't. Based on the dream idea from the original story but also the idea that people who've lost an arm or leg will still dream like they still have that limb. It'll be described in more detail in the next chapter. Reviews are helpful! **


	15. Uncharted Territory

Thanks so much to everyone who's been reading/reviewing. It's very helpful!

**Chapter XV- Uncharted Territory**

Opus 36 by Dustin O'halloran

Slowly opening her eyes Anne stared up at the ceiling but it wasn't there. Terrified she sat straight up and looked around her before flopping back onto the pillows again with a sigh. It seemed impossible but for a moment she'd actually forgotten where she was. Staring back up at the glass dome she'd mistaken for a hole in the roof she tried to quell the almost paralyzing fear that started to build up as her memory of last night and all the nights before came back to her, constricting her lungs and making her heart beat with adrenaline. Somewhere in this place was a beast, an animal that could think like a human, _speak_ like a human, and potentially kill her any time he wanted to. She felt like fainting, screaming, and running away all at once. But before the fear completely took hold of her another thought surfaced and began to nag at her brain, some shadowy memory that she felt would slip away and dissolve if she didn't grab onto it now. Since anything that might stop her from dropping down into insanity was welcome Anne tried to focus all her attention onto this small, barely-there remembrance. Then it came to her, the dream she'd had last night. She couldn't remember all of it, only brief snatches came back to her easily. Something about roses, which was no surprise seeing as that was the one thing that had gotten her into all this trouble in the first place but there had been something else. A boy, man really. She couldn't remember what he'd looked like but she remembered what he'd said.

_Are you afraid of him?_

Remembered how she'd started crying, spilling out all her worries to some stranger in a dream. Even though he'd been a figment of her imagination, something she'd made up to quell her own fears and anxieties, it still made her stomach wriggle with embarrassment at the idea that she had bared her uncertainties out to a stranger. Once again she sat up in bed.

_Maybe he's lonely. _The man had said. _Maybe he just wants someone to be with._

Even asleep she remembered how outlandish that had sounded. She refused to believe that the whole reason she had been ripped away from her family, from everything she knew- for the second time in her life no less- was because one person, and she was using the word 'person' here in the lightest way possible, wanted someone to spend the day with. It _had_ been a dream though, she reminded herself, it didn't exactly have to make complete sense. Rolling over onto her side Anne thought about getting up, dressing, leaving this room (she wouldn't think of it as her room) and potentially meeting the beast in some dark hallway. The thought only made her burrow further underneath the covers.

Far away on the other side of the castle Gregory sat on the edge of his bed and stared out at the rising sun. As it broke over the tree tops he once again tried to hold onto the memory of the dream he'd had last night and once again it came back to him as clearly as if it had only just happened.

The castle had been as it used to be, full of flowers, thriving trees, fountains bubbling and then Anne, sitting in the middle of it all. She'd been crying, talking to him about himself which had been strange to say the very least. It had felt good though, to talk to someone, with the added benefit of that person not cringing with fear and disgust as they told you what they were feeling. He wondered how it had happened. Had it simply been his waking thoughts reflected in a dream? Likely. Or had magic been at work? Also very likely. Ever since Isabelle had converted her powers onto him he would find things changed when he'd had no intention of changing them. Once as he passed through a hall on one of the upper floors a painting of his coronation had caught his eye. Angry he'd turned away wishing he'd never have to lay eyes on the thing again, a few weeks later as he passed through the hall once more the painting was gone and a still life of a table crowded with fruit, meat, and a hunting horn had taken its place. Now, closing his eyes, he remembered the last thought he'd had before going to sleep the night before, praying for a dream that wouldn't involve the same pain and unhappiness the usual ones did. Maybe that's what it'd been. _And maybe you're just reaching for straws that aren't there. _He thought. But if it was intentional, if he had somehow been able to talk to Anne in a way that was easier for both of them could he do it again? Would he?

As the sun flew higher into the sky Anne grew restless and moved from her bed to the wardrobe. Blindly reaching for a random gown she pulled out a pale pink satin day dress. Rubbing the fabric between her fingers she remembered how she had cried over all the fine things she and her family had lost before moving away from Palisades now everything was reversed, she had the riches, but not the family. Shaking her head Anne slid the dress on, over the years she'd become fairly adept with all the ties, knots, and corsets that seemed to be a requirement for women's fashion and now the "talent" came in handy for helping her focus on something other than her homesickness.

After she was dressed Anne faced the door of the bedroom as if her executioner awaited her on the other side. It might have seemed underhanded and cowardly to some but she wanted to do everything she could to prevent another meeting with her captor for as long as possible. Slowly opening the door Anne crept out into the hallway. It seemed to be deserted and she became a little braver. Looking around Anne saw no sign of man or beast and slowly descended the stairs and left the empty castle behind in favor of its grounds.

Walking through the gardens she ran her hand over a few low hanging tree branches, her fingers coming back grey and smeared. Looking around her she realized it wasn't a trick of the moonlight as she had thought the night before, everything was either a steely gray or a charcoal black, completely dead and rotten. Wandering further into the garden she wondered what had happened to make everything so skeletal. Leaning back she pricked her hand on something sharp, quickly pulling away she turned to see what had cut her and a whole grove of roses met her eyes, growing wild together in a tangled mess. Anne backed away as fast as she could. This is where it had happened, she knew it instinctively, her brother had stood near this spot and almost lost his life. Shivering Anne continued to back away from the roses before realizing she'd run into something else. Turning quickly she scanned the area before heaving a sigh of relief. She'd thought for a horrible second that she'd run right into _him_ but it was only a statue. Leaning closer she examined the carving. It was of a woman looking as if she'd just stepped out of mythology with long flowing robes cascading down and around her. There was a calm but determined look on her face as she stood over a growling demon snarling up at her, a dagger in her hand, ready to strike. Under her bare feet a Latin verse read in twisting letters _Vincit qui patitur_. Between the roses mocking her from behind and the cold expression of the woman before her Anne thought it best if she moved to another part of the garden.

Wandering further and further away from the castle Anne saw a grove of trees surrounding what seemed to be a miniature version of the castle. Coming closer she realized the place was a mausoleum. Etched above the door in the same fashion as the writing on the statue she'd left behind were the words "House of Heimskrig". She thought briefly of going inside but she decided against it before she'd even tested the gate. Enough of this place seemed vaguely haunted and adding a fear of ghosts onto her already substantial list of anxieties could hardly be considered a good thing. Turning away from the structure she realized how long she'd been wandering, the sun had almost set. Hurrying back towards the castle the irony wasn't lost on Anne that it was the place that only yesterday she'd been so reluctant to go near but anything was better than freezing out in a dead garden while tombs stood just under her feet.

Walking through the great hall she stole a glance into the dining area. It was thankfully empty and Anne almost went through the doorway and sat down at the table but taking a quick look at her skirt she saw the hem covered in dirt and leaves. She knew it shouldn't have mattered what she looked like, she was here by force after all, if that thing wanted her to look nice than he was the one who would have to do something about it. But hopefully looking less flustered might help her act like it too, so she passed the dining room and let her footsteps echo down the corridor and up the twisting marble staircase.

Much too quickly Anne was dressed in a clean gown and walking back down the stairs once more. From the landing she could see a glow in the dining hall that hadn't been there before and the faint noise of footsteps within. Shivering she walked slowly towards the open double doors, her hands gripping the sides of her gown. "You can do this. You can do this." She whispered to herself, trying to pull together a confidence she didn't feel. "You've done it before, you can do it again." Leaning against the side of the doorframe Anne peaked inside and saw the beast leaning against the mantle of the fireplace, the flames reflected in his yellow slitted eyes. _Maybe you can't do this._She thought. But by then it was already too late and instead of slinking away into the shadows Anne took one more deep breath and slowly walked through the door, trying not to fidget too much.

* * *

Gregory had spent the majority of the day in his room, still unsure of how to approach his new guest and had instead stood looking out the window as Anne walked through the grounds, consciously trying to avoid the roses as much as she could. He hated that the one thing that made living here somewhat bearable for him was the very thing that reminded her of the pain he'd brought upon her and her family. As the sun set and Anne made her way back indoors Gregory knew he'd have to make an appearance at dinner but with the remembrance of the previous night's conversation still sharp in his mind he was less than enthusiastic about meeting with her again. And once more, as he stood in front of a mirror, in a vain attempt to make himself appear less animalistic, Gregory worried over how little he wished to meet with her. Was it simply because of how self conscious and uncouth her mere humanness made him feel? Or was there something more to it?

_What if she isn't the one? _He wondered as he left his room and wandered down hallways and staircases towards the main floor. _There are thousands upon thousands of people in this world, who's to say that this is the person who can help me? _Then he remembered the dream, it couldn't have been mere chance or magic that had allowed both of them to meet on such an intimate level of consciousness. Or at least, that's what he tried to convince himself of. Now, staring into the fire in the grate he waited to see if she would even come down to dinner. _Just act human. _Gregory told himself for the hundredth time in the last hour. _Just let her see that you're not the monster she's made you out to be. _He thought back to her accusations of threatened murder and trickery against her family. _Or rather the monster you've made yourself out to be. _Gregory amended.

Suddenly hearing footsteps approaching at what seemed to be a snail's pace Gregory froze in place. Trying to keep his breathing steady he saw her out of the corner of his eye peek in through the doorway before straightening up and walking all the way inside, approaching him in a cautious way before stopping a few feet from his place near the fire.

* * *

Walking slowly into the room Anne felt the eyes of the creature boring into her and part of her mind wondered why she was steadily advancing towards him when she had the choice of running away. _Be brave. _She kept silently telling herself. _You can do this. _Stopping a few feet away from the beast Anne was suddenly very aware of the immense heat emanating from the rather extensive fireplace. The warmth in the air mixing together with the cold shivers that had started trickling down her back was making her feel a little queasy. The beast was still staring at her. _Just get it over with. _She thought to herself. Gathering up her courage Anne tilted her head back to stare into those unnerving yellow eyes.

"Hello." Anne said, surprised at how even her voice sounded.

"Good evening Anne." The beast answered before motioning towards the table. "Would you like to sit down?"

Nodding she moved with him towards the table. Anne tried to keep the surprise from her face when the beast moved to the head chair and pulled it out for her instead of sitting in it himself. Trying to look comfortable she waited until he was settled in a seat off to her right before filling her plate with whatever seemed to be in front of her. Every time she looked her choices changed. One minute there were crystalline bowls of fruit and cream, then suddenly tureens of stew, steam escaping from their rims appeared alongside platefuls of meat, fat sizzling on the bone. Looking over at her dining companion she saw that not only had he failed to serve himself, there wasn't even a place set for him.

"Aren't you going to eat anything?" Anne asked before realizing that might not have been the best choice of words. Was he trying not to spoil his appetite for when he consumed her? She gave herself a little shake, she needed to stop thinking like this; it wasn't doing her any good whatsoever. She tried to focus on listening to what he would say instead of imagining a horrible reply for him.

"No, but thank you. I'm not as hungry as I thought." Gregory said, tapping a finger against the wooden table. He stole a glance at his dinner guest and saw the worry that creased her face and felt yet another tug of guilt pull at him. Was this how it would be every night? Anne frightened and angry, him not knowing how to proceed until they both gave up or died? The very idea made him want to disappear up into his rooms and never come back.

Anne stared at her captor and tried to pull up the anger that had come so easily to her last night as she'd spoken to him and learned that he'd deceived her family. The smallest hint of fury burned inside her chest for a few seconds before sputtering out, it was just too exhausting to keep up that kind of consistent rage, no matter the circumstances. Hearing the faint sound of claws on wood Anne suddenly realized how overbearing the silence was, even the fire seemed to have lost some of its crackle. Something had to happen, she thought. She knew that sitting there, silent and angry day after day, would be a pointless endeavor. Looking around for inspiration Anne spotted a few branches peeking out across the window.

"You have… very interesting gardens."

The beast gave a short laugh. "Yes, I suppose that's one word for them."

Remembering the strange skeletal trees and the charcoal black stains from the plants that still smudged her fingers Anne asked, "Why are they like that? Dead but not dead."

The creature shook its head, seeming to be as confounded by it as she was. "I don't know. I've tried everything but still nothing grows. Nothing except the roses and I can't bring myself to tamper with them. I'm afraid that if I do they'll die along with everything else."

Anne felt a little more of her fear go away as the conversation progressed and thought of what more she could say.

"Has it always been like that?"

Giving a small smile the creature said, "No. No, it used to be beautiful. So many bright colors, birds in all the trees. Perfect. Like paradise before the fall. Now it's more graveyard than garden."

Anne stared at him as he spoke, she hadn't expected him to talk with that sort of… humanity about anything and she wondered for the first time what had brought him to this dead place.

"What's your name?" She suddenly blurted. Her dinner guest turned as still as a statue and she felt herself blushing, afraid that she'd spoken out of turn, but she didn't take back the question. Why shouldn't she ask? But the silence was getting longer and she tried to elaborate. "It's just that, I didn't catch it last night and my brother never mentioned it before I came."

Gregory tried to think quickly, he couldn't tell her his name. Monsters didn't have names, it was one of the reasons they were so terrifying. But he didn't want her to think of him as a monster so shouldn't he give her his name? His mind was going in circles and he tried to clear his head. One thing stood out though, Anne couldn't know his name, it would raise too many questions, questions Gregory didn't know if he could answer.

"You may call me 'Beast'." He finally said.

Anne laughed, sure he wasn't serious. "That can't be your name."

He raised his arms slightly as if allowing her to inspect him further. "It's what I am."

Anne opened her mouth to argue with him, ignoring for the moment that she had been calling him as much in her head. Thinking of him as a beast was one thing, saying it to his face was different. It felt wrong for some reason. "Well I'm a girl." She finally said. "But you don't call me 'girl' you call me Anne. Calling you Beast just seems like-

"It is what I wish to be called." Gregory said before clamping his mouth shut and staring at the table once more. He hadn't meant for the words to come out in a growl and he shivered as he saw her face contort with fear. All wrong, it was all wrong and he didn't know what to do.

Clenching her shaking hands together Anne's eyes narrowed. . If he was going to try to frighten and intimidate her she was going to do her best to let him know that it wouldn't work. She wouldn't let it work."Yes, Beast." Anne said, her voice cold and taunting as she added special emphasis onto the word 'beast'

The animal…Beast… sighed. "I'm sorry Anne, I know under what pretences you're here. "

_False pretences. _Anne thought to herself.

"And the least I could do is offer you some common courtesy."

"Yes," Anne agreed. As she picked up her fork and finished eating the remaining food on her plate. "That is the least you could do." Gregory flinched at her words. He needed to move back into safer territory, the only problem was he hadn't spoken to anyone in so long the idea of what might constitute as "safe" was eluding him somewhat. He thought back to the dream he'd had last night and said with some hesitance, "Did you sleep well last night?"

Anne looked up, another quick retort ready and waiting to be used before she saw, very clearly, a terrible sadness lingering in the Beast's eyes. The voice of the man from her dream came back to her "Maybe he's just lonely…." All of a sudden she was overcome with a pity she hadn't meant to feel and nodding her head swallowed her sarcastic remark and answered instead, "Very well thank you. To be honest it wasn't hard, the rooms are so beautiful I don't think I'll ever sleep badly again."

"I'm glad. I do want you to be comfortable here, Anne." The Beast replied and he looked as if he really did mean it.

"Thank you." She said. In the silence that followed Anne heard a clock somewhere chime the hour, much later than the one she'd expected. Standing up she set her napkin on the now empty plate in front of her and said, "I think I should probably get some sleep."

"Of course." The Beast answered, following suite and pulling her chair out for her.

Anne stood facing him, closer than she had ever been before. "The meal was lovely, thank you." She said, looking into his face while trying to keep her fear at bay.

"You're welcome." He answered. Anne turned away and moved towards the doorway before the Beast's voice stopped her midstride.

"Anne will you marry me?" He said, the words echoing out across the room. Anne turned back around very slowly and looked at the Beast.

"You asked me that last night."

"I know."

"And I gave you my answer."

The Beast looked at the carvings in the chair, picking at one with his claw. "Your answer may have changed."

"It hasn't." Anne said, shaking her head. "I cannot marry you."

The Beast nodded and Anne turned to leave before looking at him again and asking, "Are you going to ask me this question every night?"

"I am." The Beast said, his voice very quiet as he continued to look at the chair carvings instead of her.

"Why?" She asked, confused.

"I cannot say." The Beast answered before looking at her once again. "Goodnight Anne." He said giving her a small nod.

"Goodnight Beast." She said before leaving the room, the door closing softly behind her. Gregory stayed where he was, his claw continuing to trace a pattern over the top of the chair, lost in thought until the fire in the grate burned down to almost nothing. Giving a sigh he turned and left the dining hall as well.

* * *

**A/N: Woo, that took a while, I've had finals on my hands and I've been reading the hunger games and watching the hunger games and imagining I'm in a cave with peeta during the hunger games….. anyway, hopefully I can pop out another chapter before spring break ends. The Latin inscription Anne reads translates to "He who perseveres, conquers." Which I thought was fitting. I was watching the Canon Movie Tales version of BATB the other day and I realized how presumptuous it is that Beauty just calls the Beast "Beast" without like asking what his name is or anything (same in the Disney version) so I decided to fix that up a little in my story. Let me know what you think of everything!**


	16. The Mechanical Finch

**Chapter XVI-The Mechanical Finch **

_Leaving the Docks (from The Secret Garden Soundtrack) by Zbigniew Preisner_

Biting into a piece of warm buttered toast Anne stared out the window at the grey garden from her bedroom, missing the practical herbs and vegetables from her own little plot at home. Waking up in the morning she had skipped down to the dining hall in her nightgown and made a plate of the steaming sausages, bread, and cool chocolate she'd found there, hurrying back up to her chambers before anyone saw her. She felt like a little mouse hiding from the evil housecat. _Lion more like it_, Anne thought to herself, licking off the butter that had trickled down her fingers. Giving herself a little shake she moved away from the window. Thinking of the garden at her home would only lead to thoughts of her brother cooking in the kitchen, the way he would mumble under his breath while cutting and mixing the ingredients, making sure he didn't forget to add a single thing. Starting to shiver Anne reached out to add another log to the fire, but it was already at a steady blaze. The cold she felt didn't have anything to do with the temperature in the room. Sighing she turned instead to change. She needed to move. Get out of this room and do something to take her mind off of these thoughts, memories that would only add pain to an already painful situation.

Wandering out of the room her first thought was to go back out to the gardens but the dreary view she'd seen of it from the bedroom window made Anne wrinkle her nose at the thought. The only other option was exploring the castle but this also presented a different problem entirely. Namely, what if she met the beast? Walking down one of the massive hallways she tried to reason the fear away. _You've already met him so it's not as if you'll be experiencing anything new. Besides, if you're going to stay here for the rest of your life you'd better get used to the idea of seeing him every now and again_. The thought made Anne stop mid stride. The rest of her life. She hadn't thought of it in those terms before. She had been so worried about dying she hadn't had time to wonder what living might be like. But now the prospect made her shiver. She looked around at the fine carpet, the beautiful tapestries, the iron chandeliers, and tried to think about what it would be like, to really live here. Forever. She imagined herself slowly growing older and older, decaying through the years until she became something akin to one of those skeletal trees outside. Dead but not dead, simply remaining, day after day, year after year. The idea made her lungs constrict.

"But he'll let me go," she said out loud to no one. "He has to." But even while she said the words the statement felt false, like she was trying to say with certainty that the sky was green. What had he told her the night she came?

_I still require payment for my rose._

But what did that mean? Anne wondered as she began to walk forward once more and up a flight of stairs. Did a life's imprisonment really equal the plucking of a rose? Shaking her head she knew that if she really wanted an answer she would have to ask the beast. Wandering past rows of closed doors Anne knew she couldn't ask him, not yet. It might mean having her fears confirmed once and for all. If she didn't ask she could still hold onto the hope of leaving, of seeing her family again. And besides, it was only the third day; the issue might resolve itself in time. Either way, she couldn't ask for the answer today, she knew that if she did the answer would be a definite 'no.'

Caught up in her thoughts, Anne hadn't realized where exactly she was wandering _to_ and only just realized that she was traveling up a flight of stone steps, spiraling upwards in what must have been one of the castle's many towers. She thought for a moment of going back the way she'd come but decided against it when she realized how close she was to reaching the top. Cresting the last step Anne came to a rounded stone doorway void of any door. Expecting to see chains on the walls and bars on the windows Anne peeked inside.

The room was fairly spacious and completely round and had the look of an office to it. Straight ahead, on the far end of the room, was a large desk similar to the kind her father had in his study back at their home in Palisades. Moving towards it she saw that it was covered in papers laid out in haphazard piles. They all had sketches and measurements on them of some sort and looked to be blueprints, though for what Anne couldn't fathom. None seemed to possess any sort of recurring theme that tied them all together. Some were so unintelligible that she couldn't tell what side of the paper was up and which was down. There were bits of stray notes written hastily in the corners or backs of each, but they were just as hard to decipher as the actual pictures were.

Pushed up against a wall to the right of the desk was a long rectangular table which held dozens of strange looking objects. There was a blank piece of parchment with a beautiful brass pen laid very carefully next to it, but no inkwell in sight. On a clawed pedestal sat a beautiful glass sphere that was almost as big as her head. From where Anne stood it seemed to be glowing slightly but that might've just been the weak sunlight that had begun to filter through one of the small tower windows. Next to it was a gold pocket watch whose face was obscured by what looked to be small clouds swimming underneath the glass. It wouldn't have mattered anyway, though, because the hands of the clock were missing as well. Further down a small collection of jeweled beetles were lined up neatly side to side. Anne backed away at the sight of them, fully expecting each to twitch and writhe up over the other but, upon closer inspection, she saw that they weren't real but instead made of various metals with jeweled abdomens and very tiny cogs placed underneath the wings.

The thing that caught her eye the most, though, was at the far end of the table closest to the door. Almost on the edge was a little metal bird that, with its head nestled down close to its breast, seemed to be asleep. Reaching out a finger, Anne couldn't help but stroke the bird's head and was given quite a shock when it opened one small metal eye to reveal onyx pupils and gave her a sleepy chirp by way of greeting. Stepping back Anne watched as the bird ruffled himself a little before spreading his wings, revealing knobs and wheels that whirred to life underneath. The mechanical bird, it appeared to be finch, hopped about a few times before flying off the table and into the air. He circled her head and alighted once more on a large globe that had been placed nearby and inlaid with precious stones to represent the land and sea. Anne inched forward slowly to get a better look at the toy animal but before she could the bird had cocked its head and flew over her shoulder and towards the doorway. Afraid that it would fly outside and get smashed or clawed up by a hawk Anne turned to chase after it but stopped short when she realized that the bird hadn't flown out of the room like she'd thought. Instead it was perched on the shoulder of the beast.

Giving a sharp gasp Anne stepped back and knocked into the large globe behind her. Her eyes went wide as they darted around the room looking for any other exits. But it was no use, the beast was next to the only way in or out and if she tried to make a run for it he would snatch her up for sure, so she stayed where she was.

"I didn't mean to startle you," the beast said, walking a little further into the room, the bird still resting on his shoulder. "I didn't know you would be up here."

Anne's heart was racing. "Should I not be?" she asked.

"No, of course not," the beast replied. "Remember what I told you? You may go anywhere you like here. And besides, if I'd wanted to keep you out I would've put a lock on the door. Or," he said, looking at the open entryway, revealing fangs as he grinned, "Added a door."

Relieved, Anne gave a small laugh and the tension in her shoulders lessened somewhat. The finch gave a small chirp, as if he understood and enjoyed the joke as well, before flitting off the beast's shoulder to fly onto the large desk Anne had been looking at earlier.

"What do you think of it?" the beast asked, following her eyes to where the bird was tentatively pecking and hopping around the mass of papers and ink.

"I think he's wonderful." Anne replied.

"He gave me quite a bit of trouble in the beginning. It's no easy thing, you know, getting a metal bird to fly for you." The beast answered, a small hint of pride creeping into his voice as he spoke.

"_You_ made it?" Anne said, the astonishment evident in her voice. For whatever reason the thought hadn't occurred to her before now. She'd simply assumed that all these items where remnants of whatever long ago nobleman had lived in the castle. All of the pieces, though well taken care of, did not appear to be brand new creations. The bird, for instance, while beautifully polished, had scratches of wear around its wings and lower torso with small signs of rust beginning to show on the tips of its beak and feet. She couldn't believe something so delicately handcrafted could have come from someone like the beast.

The beast in question looked away from the bird and into her eyes. Seeming to read her mind he asked, "Does that surprise you?"

"Well… it's… it's just that," Anne stammered, already feeling a slight twinge of shame for letting her thoughts show so easily.

"I am a beast?" he said, finishing the sentence for her. Anne winced at the word, wishing that she could tell him no, that's not what she'd meant to imply. But it was and she hated that she had even thought of it to begin with.

"I may not be human, but I'm not a monster," he said, looking away from her as he spoke the words, sounding as if he were trying to convince himself of it more than anyone else. "My… my hands," the beast added, looking down at his clawed fingers, "were designed for something I have no wish to use them for. Can you blame me, for trying to find a better purpose with which to use them?"

"No." Anne said, shaking her head quickly. She had hardly ever felt guiltier in her entire life, the way the beast had spoken, so hollow and unhappy, left her with a gnawing mix of shame and disappointment in herself.

"No. I'm sorry… I didn't mean… I shouldn't have… I'm sorry." She said biting her lip and looking away.

"It's not your fault." The beast said with a sigh as he walked towards the bird that was still chirping and hopping all around the desk. "From all that's happened so far, how could you be expected to think otherwise?"

Anne looked up, surprised that he had seen things so clearly from her perspective. It was true, in a way. There was no reason for her to think of him in any way except a monster, a kidnapper, someone who had tricked her into a self imprisonment that would likely last the remainder of her years. And yet… listening to what he'd said, the look on his face as he spoke of what he was, made her feel that he was deriving no pleasure from his actions. And Anne couldn't help but feel sympathy for him in spite of herself.

As she watched, the Beast scooped the mechanical finch up into his paw and held it firmly before reaching out one clawed finger to stroke the bird's head in very much the same way Anne had. As she watched, the Beast slowly opened his palm and she saw the bird close its eyes before settling into sleep once more.

"How did you get him to fly?" Anne asked, trying to move them towards a more comfortable conversation.

"With magic," the Beast said as he walked towards the table to set the finch back down among the other little bits and bobs strewn around it.

Anne narrowed her eyes slightly before giving him a smirk. "You're making fun," she said.

The Beast gave a smile of his own and turned back to face her. "I wish I was. It would mean I was clever enough to coax him into myself."

"But magic isn't real." Anne replied automatically.

The Beast gave her an amused look. "It isn't?" he asked, as if the news was both shocking and new to him.

"Not in the regular world at least, " Anne said, feeling foolish that she was arguing about the validity of magic with a talking beast while they stood together in a hidden castle where roses grew and thrived in the chill of November. But she felt she had to say it for logic's sake.

"Well don't tell him that," the Beast said, lowering his voice conspiratorially as he cocked his head back at the sleeping finch. "He might get it into his head and then he'll never fly."

After a moment or two of silence Anne looked back at the Beast, an expectant look on her face. "Well?" she asked.

"Well what?"

"Do some magic," Anne said, as though it were obvious. "Make yourself…disappear or bring the sun into the room or _something_."

The Beast thought for a minute before seeming to make a decision. "Alright," he said. "Hold out your hand."

Anne did as she was instructed and gave a small gasp of surprise when, after a few seconds, a small flame sparked up an inch or two away from the Beast's fingertips, one minute sparkling red, before shifting into purple, green, blue, and back to red once more. Reaching out his other hand the Beast grabbed Anne by the wrist. Instantly her heartbeat went up as a rush of adrenaline started to course through her and she instinctively tried to rip her arm free.

"It's alright," the Beast said. "I won't hurt you." Looking from the clawed hand gripping her and up into his brown and gold slitted eyes Anne knew it was stupid that she should trust him. And she didn't, not exactly. But it wasn't as if she had much of a choice at the moment either. So she nodded and nervously waited to see what he would do. Eyes back on the flame in his hand the Beast slowly moved it down to Anne's outstretched palm. Holding her arm steady he carefully poured the sparking flame into her hand before taking both of his away. Anne stood, astounded, as she watched the little fire sputter and bob in her palm.

"This is amazing," she breathed, hypnotized by the shifting colors flickering across her hand.

"Took me ages to learn," the Beast said as he scooped the flame back up and clenched his hand into a fist. As he lowered his arm Anne saw that the fire had disappeared and all that was left were a few tendrils of smoke escaping between his fingers.

"Can all these things do magic?" she asked, gesturing to the table

"Of a sort." He answered.

Anne pointed to the glass sphere she had been admiring earlier. "What about this one?" she asked.

"Pick it up," he said.

Carefully Anne held the sphere with both hands and looked at the Beast for further instruction.

"Now throw it."

Anne's eyes widened and she shook her head. "I don't want to break it."

"You won't, I promise," the Beast replied.

Anne gave the ball a light toss and held her breath as she waited for the inevitable shatter that would happen seconds later. But it didn't come.

Instead, she watched as the ball flew into the air and, just as it was arching downward, stop, as if an invisible hand had caught it mid-fall. As it sat, suspended, the faint glow Anne had seen in it earlier began to grow brighter and brighter until the whole room was filled with a warm, golden light.

Walking towards the glass orb she heard the Beast behind her say, "You asked if I could bring the sun into the room. Unfortunately this is as close as I've come to doing so."

Reaching up on tiptoes Anne ran a hand through the air above the glowing ball, not quite believing that it could float there unassisted. "How did you do it?" she asked.

"Sometimes I find myself working late on one thing or another. I was beginning to get tired of squinting through the candlelight so I took a small sunbeam and captured it in the glass. It's not perfect, if you look closely you can see some dust motes got trapped inside along with it, but-"

"I think it's wonderful," Anne said, turning back to smile at the Beast.

"Thank you," he said, sounding pleased.

"And those?" she asked, walking quickly back towards the table, pointing at the jeweled beetles as she did so. "What do you use them for?"

"I call them 'seekers'," the Beast said, reaching for one and dropping it into Anne's hand.

"And they find the things you've lost?" Anne prompted.

The Beast nodded. "All you do is set one in your palm, tell it what you need and it'll find it for you. Even bring it back if it's not too heavy."

Fingering the small object a thought came to her and she asked, "Have you always been able to do magic?"

"No. Not always," the Beast replied, tapping his finger on the table in a nervous motion.

"Did you learn it then?"

"No. It was given to me," he said, turning away from her to sort and straighten some of the papers on the desk. Outside the rain had disappeared but the wind remained to send a chill through the air.

"By whom?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"A woman who owed me a debt. This was her way of paying it"

Anne looked back at the beetle in her hand, feeling cold. She had almost been able to forget for a few seconds about why she was here but now the reminder came crashing down again, encircling her like a noxious fume.

"And…and have many people owed you debts?" she finally asked.

"No," the Beast answered, still not looking at her. After a moment he added, "In all my life only three people have owed me something. The first has paid, the second continues to do so, and the third never will."

Anne didn't say anything but she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. She thought she could guess who that second person was. And suddenly Anne didn't feel like speaking to this creature any longer, let alone staying in the same room as himself. He had shown her a small kindness, perhaps, by giving her a tour of all his strange trinkets but that could hardly eclipse the fact that she was here, in this place, at all. With a small clunk she lowered the brass beetle back onto the table and the noise made the Beast turn.

"You can keep it. If you like," He said in a soft voice.

Anne shook her head. Taking something away from this place had been what had gotten her into trouble the first time and if there was one thing she wanted to avoid, it was a repeat of that experience.

"You- you might need it for something." Was her weak excuse. But the Beast shook his head.

"All the things I've lost can't be found with a little bug," he said. "Take it. Give it some use."

"And what if I can't find one for it?"

"You can always bring it back."

"Alright," Anne said after a pause. Snatching up the beetle she stuffed it into the pocket of her skirts before making her excuses and disappearing down the spiral steps.

* * *

Later than night Gregory dreamed again of the gardens. In his mind he was walking through them, the scent of flowers thick in the air. Looking to his right he saw Anne by his side, walking with him down a path walled with roses. It was dark but the moon was out and from its light he could see she was wearing the same green dress she'd been wearing earlier up in the tower, her right hand skimming lightly across the roses as she moved. On a whim Gregory stopped to pick one, careful of the thorns that wound around its stem. But before he could pull it from the vine Anne's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. The intensity of her grip made him turn away from the roses to see a worried expression on her face.

"You shouldn't take them," Anne whispered furtively, as if someone might overhear them.

"Why not?" Gregory asked, confused. Anne didn't reply but instead stole a nervous glance at the castle and his heart sank. He hadn't realized quite how far her apprehension about the roses, and what they represented, had gone and he tried to reassure her.

"It's alright Anne, nothing will happen." He said as he plucked one and handed it to her. She stared at the rose in his hand before looking up at him.

"You're not afraid of him?" she asked, surprise evident in her words.

"I used to be," he answered, still holding the rose as they continued down the lane. "Of what he could do, what he was capable of, but…" and here Gregory chose his words wisely, "We've developed an understanding over the years."

"Does he keep you here as well?" Anne asked, sounding angry.

"Yes, but not in the way you're thinking."

"What about your family?"

"Almost all of them were dead before I came to this place. The few that were alive have gone by now."

"How long ago was it? Since you came here, I mean." She asked.

Gregory tried to recall it, a time when he had been human, moving about in the real world among other people instead of in this dreamscape he'd created. Walking, laughing, simply existing out in that world seemed more dream now than this. "I don't think I can even remember anymore." he replied.

Both lost in thought, silence washed over everything once more, interrupted only by the muffled sounds of gravel crunching underneath two pairs of feet.

"And you? What do you think of all this so far?" Gregory asked. He knew her reply would be far from ecstatic, but perhaps he could learn something from it, gather together a few possible options in making all this less miserable for her.

Anne shrugged her shoulders. "It's…" she began, searching for the right word. "It is what it is, I suppose." She finally said with a sigh, pelting a few rocks away from her with her boot as she walked. "I mean, I don't want to be unhappy for the rest of my life. But I don't see how I could be anything else living here."

Gregory didn't know what to say. He felt a wave of guilt course over him for what he'd done. In the end he was no better than Richard, exiling her away from her home, her family, forcing her to live here with a monster. He knew exactly what all that felt like and yet here he was, inflicting it onto another person for his own selfish gain. It wasn't fair- for either of them.

"Perhaps it will get better… in time," was all he could think to say.

Anne nodded. "Perhaps," she said, giving a laugh that was more of a sob, "Though I don't see how it could."

"Sometimes… sometimes I've found that forgetting helps. It makes living here easier if you've forgotten everything that came before," Gregory said, wishing he had better advice for her.

"But I don't want to forget. My brother, my family, they were all I had. If I'm never going to see them again I don't want to lose my memories of them as well. I just wish I knew why he kept me here."

Starting awake suddenly Gregory sat up, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms, her last sentence echoing inside his head. If only he could tell her. If only she could know.

* * *

**A/N: AHH such a long wait. But I've graduated from college! I now have a legit BA in English and a minor in writing so you know…. That's cool. Except now I have to be an adult and have an actual job that I have to go to everyday so I'm literally writing as much as I can every day at like 2 hours at a time. Anyway I hope this next installment satisfied all your expectations. For everyone who noticed that Anne changes from referring to Gregory as "the beast" to "the Beast"- congratulations! You get a gold star because that was intentional! I wanted a subtle way of slowly showing Anne beginning to see him as a person which will lead to her falling in love with him. and that usually involves proper nouns. Please review and tell me what you think! **


	17. A Gift

_A/N: Thank you to EVERYONE who has been reading, reviewing, favoriting and following. You guys are the best. It seriously pushes me to keep going knowing you are all out there enjoying my writing. So thank you!_

**Chapter XVII- A Gift **

_Noah Visits by James Newton Howard _

Sitting outside, the wind blowing through his hair, Thomas watched the forest. It was all he did now. No matter where he was, his eyes constantly found their way there. And as he stared at the creaking trees, their leaves blowing in the wind, he once more went through all the things he could have done… _should _have done to keep his sister safe. He shouldn't have told her anything. He shouldn't have gone home in the first place. If he'd had any sense he would have demanded the monster finish him off then and there instead of coming home to infect his family with his actions. And once again Thom relived the horrible moment when he first realized that Anne had gone missing at all.

Waking up that morning, the last morning, the first thing he'd done was go to Anne's room to say one more, quiet, goodbye before leaving forever. But when he knocked softly on the door, hastily whispered her name, no one answered. Going down the stairs, two, three, at a time, he'd searched the house, checking each room more frantically than the last. He called her name over and over again until the word turned into a shout, a yell, a scream and still he'd refused to believe the grim truth that had begun to settle, like a layer of fine dust, across his shoulders. Anne was gone.

Not even bothering to saddle the horse, he had ridden like a madman straight into the heart of the forest. Going in circles he'd called out to his sister over and over again until his throat was hoarse. Only after night had completely fallen, and Thom felt that he had searched ever thicket and bush for signs of her or the castle, did he wearily wander back to his house. The lights were on but nothing was as it usually was, as it should be. On any other night Thom would have been in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the meal, his mother setting the table in order as his father wandered in from the workroom to wash up. Anne would come in through the front door after a day of haggling with merchants at the local market or digging away in her garden. She would look tired, hair a mess, hands dirtier than the potatoes she'd pull from the ground. But even when she was in a sore mood she would plunk down on the stool in the kitchen that was reserved just for her and Thom would have his sister smiling and laughing again before the food was out on the table. That night the dinner hadn't been made, the table was bare, and his parents sat, waiting in front of the fireplace.

Both looked at him for an answer but all Thom could do was shake his head. His mother began to rock back and forth in her chair, sobs ripping through her faster than she could draw breath and his father's shoulders shook as he tried to hold in tears of his own. Thom couldn't face being with them, a living reminder of what he'd done and what he'd failed to do. Going back upstairs he came to Anne's room and lay down on her bed. Breathing in he smelled her scent on the pillows- fresh air and soap, mixed with an earthen smell of plants and flowers. He thought about how, one day, that scent would begin to grow musty and disappear until none of it was left. _Eventually everything about her will start to fade away, _he thought to himself. The idea made Thom shiver and he couldn't stop shaking until exhaustion consumed him completely and he fell asleep.

After that night, Thom began to dream of his sister constantly and in each one he lost her in a new and horrible way. In the ballroom of their old home he would be with her, talking and laughing at the sillier guests that had been invited to a large dinner party when a monster would enter soundlessly, unnoticed by the other guests, and drag his sister away. Unable to move, Thomas would listen as her screams traveled through the hallways until, abruptly, they were silenced altogether….. Laughing she would enter the forest even while he begged her not to. Giving him one last carefree grin she would disappear behind a tree and when he went to investigate nothing would be there, nothing except a red smear against the brown bark of a tree stump…..And then, the worst of them all, he would be back at the castle, cowering in front of that horrible beast while the creature took his sister by the arm and pulled her towards the castle, digging his claws into her flesh until she bled. Looking back at him she would cry out to him for help. Over and over again Anne would scream, "Do something Thom! Please do something!" And he never did.

Over the weeks Thom began to sleepwalk. Waking up in the morning he would find himself in the middle of the King's Forest, covered in dirt, his bare feet bleeding from walking all night and hope would inevitably break through again, that maybe this time he'd found the castle. Maybe this time his feet had taken him back to the place his mind couldn't seem to remember, but instead all he got for his trouble were sore muscles and bloody footprints.

His parents asked him constantly to go though the tale once more; demanded to know exactly what had happened at the castle, looking for some clue, some small hint in the beast's words that might allow them to hope that Anne was still alive. Imprisoned, yes, but alive. Except there was nothing, Thom knew it even though his father and mother continued to hope that things would turn out for the best. Their son didn't fight them on this, they hadn't seen the animal, they couldn't understand. This creature was beyond feeling, beyond pity. Thom didn't have any doubt that his sister was dead. And it was his fault.

Looking up from the patch of forest he'd be glaring at, Thom saw his father walking towards him; cloak flapping in the cold breeze that could only mean winter was coming fast. Sitting down next to him the older man set a large jar filled to the brim with honey at Thom's knee.

"Mr. Bishop sent it along. He thought it might cheer you up."

Their neighbor, of course, didn't know anything of what had happened, and he was away on business at such long intervals that Anne had been gone for a fortnight already by the time the old man had caught on that anything was amiss. The story was that Anne had grown ill and needed to be taken to special doctors who could help treat her sickness. Thomas wished it were the truth, at least in that fantasy she was still alive.

"Perhaps you could use it to make a few of those honeycakes your mother likes so much," his father said in a voice that was meant to sound bright but came out in cracks and sputters instead.

Thom didn't say anything, running his thumb over the tiny ridges of the jar's seal.

Sighing his father went on, "I know this has been difficult for you, Son, for all of us. But… we have to find a way to… to go on, somehow."

His finger went still at that and Thomas looked sharply at his father.

"I'm not saying forget," he continued, reading Thom's thoughts. "But we also can't…" he gestured out and around them, searching for the right word "just stop altogether. She wouldn't have wanted that if she- if she were here." He said, his voice starting to break.

Thom knew what that meant. _If she were here._ "If she was alive, you mean." He said aloud.

The stricken look on his father's face made him want to pull the words back and lock them away again but he couldn't and really, what was the point? If his father wanted them all to move forward then they needed to start accepting that Anne wasn't just trapped, or missing, or any of the other foolish things his parents were deluding themselves with. His sister wasn't gone. Gone implied that she might come back, that one day they would see each other again. She wasn't gone. She wasn't missing. She was dead. And she was never coming back.

His father was the first to look away. "She isn't dead Thom."

"How can you know that?" He replied, his voice angry and accusing.

"How can you not?" His father said, just as forcefully. "I know what it is to lose someone Thom. I know the hollowness that follows, the grief, the acceptance that needs to happen. And this…" his father looked towards the forest, shaking his head. "This is not it. She is there somewhere. I am sure of it. More sure than anything I have ever been in my life. You may think it foolish to believe that, but I know it."

And with that, his father rose from his spot on the hill and turned to walk back towards the house. Seeming to remember something though, he stopped and turned to look at his son.

"I want you to go over this afternoon and thank Mr. Bishop for that honey. It was the last he had from the summer."

Sighing Thom gave one more glance to the forest before picking up the jar and following his father back to the house.

Later that day, Thom made his way down the old dirt road that led to Mr. Bishop's house. It was a sizable structure, made entirely of bricks with all manner of moss and ivy growing across it from left to right, making it seem as if the house had grown right out of the ground instead of being built with stone and mortar. Ringing the bell, Thom, who, even though he'd put on his second best change of clothes, still looked rather worn and disheveled, was instructed by the butler in an offhand manner to go around back through the kitchens while Mr. Bishop was notified of his arrival. Hearing this Thomas was suddenly reminded of the gentleman he used to be and- returning to his old self for a brief moment- pushed his shoulders back and looked down his nose at the butler before saying to the manservant - in his coldest, most formal voice - that if the man would be so kind as to alert his master that Mr. Thomas Gibson was here to speak with him on private matters he would be much obliged and would also very much like to be let in out of the cold wind ifit were all the same to _him_.

Eyes widening the butler took a few steps back and away from the door, allowing Thomas to enter. Shaking back his coat Thomas looked sharply at the servant.

"Well?" he barked. The poor man jumped and scurried away, mind whirling over who this peasant, who spoke like a young lord, might be. Thomas sighed and rubbed a hand over his aching forehead and wished this visit would be over quickly.

After a few moments he heard footsteps and looked up to see the butler hurrying back towards him. "If you would follow me, sir, I'll show you to Mr. Bishop's study."

They walked in silence through brightly lit corridors that exuded a warmth and calm over Thomas and his headache eased somewhat. Finally coming to a halt the butler pulled open a heavy looking brass knobbed door before entering. Thom heard his introductions being made before the butler returned and walked solemnly back down the long hallway. Walking through the door, his footsteps creaking on the old hardwood floors, Thom's eyes widened in surprise as he took in his surroundings. Expecting to see a study filled with books and roaring fireplaces Thom was instead greeted to the sight of four large tables lined in two neat rows, each one covered in different sized beakers, tubes, and bottles, all connected to one another in a twisting maze too complicated for him to follow. Instead of books the shelves were covered in rows of drawers, each one meticulously labeled in fine twisting letters. Squinting for a better look Thom saw some of the drawers sporting such curious labels as 'Hemlock Leaves, crushed; 'Dust, nebule'; and even, 'Teeth, assorted."

Hearing the creak of footsteps behind him Thom straightened and turned around in what he hoped was a nonchalant way. He knew from experience that the fastest way to get caught snooping was with sudden movements. The quicker you moved the guiltier you usually were. Not that he had anything to fear, for the look on the approaching Mr. Bishop's face showed no trace of reprimand. The cherry faced man was indeed beaming from ear to ear.

"Thom, my boy, how are you?" He exclaimed as he reached for Thom's hand and gave it a firm shake.

"I'm well, thank you Mr. Bishop." Thom answered, the man's cheerful voice and heartfelt handshake pulled his mouth up slightly, and while it couldn't quite be called a smile, the shadow of one was certainly there. "I came by to thank you for the honey. I know my mother will be itching for me to use it straightaway."

The older man waved his hand. "Think nothing of it lad. Would've rotted away in my cellar for all the good it'd do me." Noticing Thom's eyes wandering around the room the country gentleman clapped him on the back and guided him back towards the strangely marked shelves.

"Ah, but I see you've found my collection," he said, sounding pleased.

"They do have a way of catching the eye." Thomas admitted.

Mr. Bishop chuckled at this. "They do indeed."

"Where did you acquire them from?" Thom asked, partly out of curiosity and partly because he sensed Mr. Bishop wanted to be asked.

"My great -aunt was quite a gifted healer in her day. Most of this inventory comes from her, as does my knowledge of the ingredients."

"You actually use these things?" Thom asked, trying to think of anything that might call for a dash of human teeth, or a pint of (as one drawer read) 'Snakeskin, shredded' but nothing was coming to mind.

"Oh you'd be surprised," Mr. Bishop said, visibly warming to the subject. "I have potions for seasickness, heartsickness, things to help you remember, things to make you forget, rheumatism…"

"Do you have something that could help me sleep?" Thom said, sounding more eager than he'd meant to. It felt like an eternity since he'd been able to lay down without worrying about nightmares or whether or not he would even still be in his bed when he awoke.

The gentleman looked at Thom and noticed for the first time his rumpled attire, slouch figure and the dark circles around his eyes. His heart twisting for the poor boy he nodded quickly and the brief look of concern on his face was gone in an instant as he hurriedly went to one of the little drawers further down the room.

"You know, I have just the thing," He called back to Thomas. Standing on tiptoe he opened one of the drawers and extracted a small glass vile filled with a purple liquid that sloshed in a lazy way and managed to look even darker when the light caught it through a window. Holding it up in triumph Mr. Bishop began to walk back towards the young man. "A thimbleful of this every night and you'll have the sweetest dreams that ever-"

"No," Thom said holding up his hand. His voice was harsh enough that it stopped Mr. Bishop mid-step and the cheery smile was wiped from his face. "No dreams," He said, shaking his head. "Just sleep."

"Well in that case." Mr. Bishop returned the vile to its place on the shelf and opened another drawer at eye level. This one filled with a clear, almost diamond colored, liquid that he handed over to Thomas. As he began to put it down into his coat pocket Mr. Bishop's tone turned serious. "I would advise you to take only one drop of this a night," He told him. "It's extremely potent. I've heard tales of people being force fed the stuff until they aged away to nothing without ever having woken up.

"Thank you. I'll be sure to remember." Thom said. Taking out a few silver coins he tried handing them over but Mr. Bishop simply raised his arms and shook his head.

"No need no need. It's the least I could do after all your father's done for me over the years." He replied. Smiling, Thom pocketed the coins once more and, after a few more words of polite conversation, began to take his leave, but not before the older man spoke once more,

"And tell me, does your sister show any signs of improving?"

A mixture of sadness, anger, and fear flitted over Thom's face at hearing Mr. Bishop's inquiry, but when he replied his voice was polite, if rather halting. "Her condition remains unchanged," he said.

"Oh I'm sorry to hear it." Mr. Bishop replied, and it looked as if he truly was. "Let me know if there is anything I can do for her, please don't even hesitate."

Thom nodded and, without another word, stepped out into the maze of corridors, which had seemed to have lost their happy glow, down the stairs and back out into the chill autumn air.

That night Thom sat on the edge of his bed and laid a drop of the diamond colored liquid on his tongue. He had just enough time to set the bottle on the nightstand, pull the covers over himself and wonder if the stuff would really work before he was asleep.

Blinking open his eyes the next morning Thom was amazed and relieved to find that he'd slept the whole night through without even the slightest wisp of a dream to disturb him. From then on he went through his chores, spoke to his parents, and worked in the kitchen before once more dropping down into a blessedly peaceful sleep each and every night. It got to the point where he looked forward to that time every day when he was once again able to drink the potion. The liquid– at first – hadn't tasted like anything, but it was now starting to acquire a sharp, brisk flavor to it, like mint leaves and ice water, that only grew stronger with each sip and made the drinking of it all the more enjoyable. Unfortunately the small peace that it had started to bring to Thom would not last forever.

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**A/N: And… scene! Sorry if you were looking forward to more Anne and Gregory time but I felt like I couldn't just leave Thom behind, waiting in the wings, until the happily ever after. Plus, Mr. Bishop is going to be playing a more crucial role later down the road so (to avoid Deus Ex Machina) I wanted to give them both a little more "on screen time" as it were. I was originally going to write more from Anne's POV but every time I thought about what was happening with her, Thom would inevitably pop up in my brain instead so I decided to stop fighting it and let the story lead the way. Hope you liked it. Review if you did. Review if you didn't. :)  
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	18. The Man in the Portrait

Chapter XVIII- The Man in the Portrait

_Song: Home by Alexandre Desplat from the Girl with a Pearl Earring Soundtrack _

Every night Anne had dinner with the Beast. It was the only regularity that occurred. And the part that Anne dreaded most. Slowly, she was becoming more accustomed to the Beast's appearance but the conversations were always tense and awkward and silence was more common at each meal than actual speech. During the day she would wander in and out of old bedrooms that smelled stale and musty even though they looked cleaner than any room had a right to be. As the weeks passed Anne became a little braver with her explorations and started to examine the rooms even further. She would look under beds, search through drawers, usually she didn't find anything but sometimes a small coin or lady's handkerchief would be discovered, peeking from underneath a pillow or clunking down from out of a wardrobe. Anne made a game of it, trying to guess who the occupant of each room might be. She would describe to herself their character traits: who they were, what they looked like, which room tenants were acquaintances, which were enemies. Sometimes she would inadvertently say something aloud like, "You must've been tall for your age," or "He hated waking up early." In the beginning she would look up and turn ever so slightly to make sure no one was eavesdropping on her one-sided conversations but it soon began to matter to her less and less. There was never anyone around to notice or care. Besides, it was comforting to hear a familiar voice every once in a while, even if it's only her own.

Some rooms, like the people who had once used them, were much more interesting than others. But the one she liked the most was a room that she had never even been inside. The door was normal enough, large and grand like any of the others, but when she tried the handle to go inside she found that, though the knob turned, the door would not budge an inch. After a few minutes of rattling and shoving Anne resigned herself to bending down and peeking through the keyhole. It was a large room, from what she could see, filled with dusty and long forgotten artifacts strewn about haphazardly. Apart from the Beast's mechanical workspace in the tower this was the most interesting room she'd encountered. The next day she came back to look through the lock again, and the next and the next and the next. On that fourth day Anne finally decided to do more than just peek through the door. She was going to get inside.

Facing the entrance that night, arms crossed over her chest, moonlight cutting through the dark corridor, Anne wondered about the best way to go about it. The door couldn't be locked, she reasoned, or else she would have never gotten the knob to turn that first time. Besides, the Beast had told her she could go wherever she liked in this gloomy dungeon of a castle so there was no point in having it be locked in the first place. Anne repeated this fact over and over again, secretly fearing the Beast would suddenly appear around the corner to catch her snooping before wreaking some sort of terrible vengeance on her. Reminding herself that this wasn't a fairy tale and she wasn't one of Bluebeard's wives, Anne took a deep and, grabbing the knob with both hands, set herself against the door, shoving as hard as she could. Nothing happened. Again and again she put all her weight onto it, straining against the door while at the same time trying to be as quiet as possible. Then, finally, the entry began to give ever so slightly. Anne felt as if the scraping and squeaking of her progress would be enough to echo throughout every single nook and cranny of the castle, but if anyone did hear they didn't bother to come investigate. As soon as there was enough room to fit through Anne straightened, panting slightly from the exertion, and quickly slipped inside.

Surveying the area around her Anne began to tentatively move further into the room. It was, as she had seen from the keyhole, a large space, filled with all manner of discarded items. In the corner one of the large chandeliers that would regularly hang from the ceiling had been lowered from its thick chain so that the unlit candles stood at eye level a few feet off the ground. Clothes, dusty and moth-eaten, crowded the floor; tables of various sizes and shapes were scattered throughout, some covered in what must once have been gleaming while cloths, others layered with piles of books- precariously stacked- until they towered above her head. On the walls portraits covered every square inch of space. All of them in beautifully carved gilt frames that Anne could tell from just a glance were made of real gold.

One such portrait, at least eight arm lengths wide, depicted what looked to be the final act of some great battle from long ago. A lone soldier stood at the top of a small hill, right hand wrapped around a bloody sword that hung parallel to his leg. The sun in the painting glinted off the man's hair, a bright golden color that matched the painting's frame. In the distance a welcoming party, with billowing flags and bright revelers, could be faintly seen emerging from the right hand side of the canvas where the painting ended and the frame began. The soldier had turned his head to watch their slow progress across the field, allowing Anne to catch a glimpse of his profile. With his sharp features, brown eyes, and stern expression, the man reminded her of a Greek god, sent down to dispatch justice on some unsuspecting foe.

Frowning, Anne tilted her head to the side, confused at the sudden surge of dislike that had started to course through her. It seemed the longer she stood there the more the soldier seemed to irritate her. Her forehead pinched as she tried to pinpoint just what it was exactly that made her hate, yes hate, the man in the portrait. His eyes, the twist of his head, his stance, it was no individual detail but all of it comprised together that caused her insides to squirm. Looking away at last Anne turned from the image to inspect the other artifacts in the room, trying to shake the feeling that as soon as her back was turned the man had moved his gaze away from the approaching troupe of admirers to watch her progress. She was tempted to rummage through the towering mass of books that stood guard like sentinels in the dark room, but the possibility of toppling the whole stack, and the ensuing noise that would accompany it, just to squint at print she probably wouldn't even be able to read by moonlight didn't seem worth the trouble. Besides, what light there was in the room had begun to dim significantly.

Moving to one of the dingy windows on the far side of the room Anne saw the last hint of moon completely engulfed by clouds. _I should get back to bed. _She thought to herself, but there was another doorway sitting off to her left that was just begging to be explored. Shuffling forward, Anne prayed that she wouldn't trip over the clutter on the ground and smash her head open. Reaching the doorway her hand quickly flew to her mouth at the sight of the dark figure standing not three feet in front of her. Frozen, she struggled to swallow the scream that tore at her throat. After a long, heart-racing, minute Anne was finally able to move. At the same time she lowered her hand moonlight filled the room once more and the scream she was holding down transformed into a shaky laugh at the sight of her own pale face reflected back at her in the mirror. A thin smile took shape on her face, framed by light brown hair sticking up in all directions. Looking around at the rest of the room caused Anne's smile to quickly disappear.

There were no paintings, tables or books here, only mirrors. They surrounded her completely. Throwing her reflection back a thousand times over they hung on hooks and nails, some stacked up against walls in neat even rows, others- it seemed- had been flung haphazardly across the room. Many were blackened and tarnished while others sported large cracks in them that snaked across the glass like tree branches. Shoulders hunched, Anne pulled her robe tight, suddenly feeling much colder than she had a few seconds before as she turned this way and that to look at the strange collection. Slowly she backed away from the looking glasses. She didn't want to spend another moment in this sad discarded room. Reaching the doorframe Anne spun around and quickly walked towards the stuck door and out into the hallway. But before she had taken more than a few steps towards the exit the sight of another dark shadow made her pause. This one was no mistaken reflection or trick of the light but the Beast himself, standing with his hands clasped and head raised to look at the painting she'd felt such an overwhelming dislike for moments ago. Anne sensed that he was aware of her staring and she felt she must say something but didn't know quite what.

Gregory stared up at the picture of his brother as he listened to the Anne's soft footfalls stop nearby. Her fear and uncertainty were almost tangible and he grit his teeth in frustration, trying not to snarl. If his mere presence could inspire such panic perhaps it would be best if he simply ended this ridiculous experiment and sent her back to her home. Wasn't it enough that he spend the rest of his life locked away in this decrepit building without dragging another innocent down with him? He could let her go and imagine this as if it were all some sort of extended daydream, then put it behind him forever. But he couldn't bring himself to form the words and it wouldn't have mattered if he could because Anne spoke first.

"Who was he?" she asked him. Her voice was hardly more than a whisper but the question seemed to fill the whole room. _A liar…a cheat…a soldier…a man. My brother. _All the answers he could give swirled around inside his head, making it hard for him to decide just what to say. Finally he simply told her the truth.

"A king. At least he used to be, a very long time ago."

"What happened to him?" Anne prompted and Gregory lowered his head. "Why can't you leave it alone?" He wanted to plead. "Why did you have to open this door, ask these questions, when all I want to do is forget? Just let me forget."

But again what he thought and what he said were two different things. "He died, and someone else took his place. Just like every other ruler before him. Now all that's left of his legacy is a dusty painting hanging up in a forgotten room." Gregory said, waving a hand at the portrait before walking away from it and towards one of the windows.

Following the Beast's gaze Anne stared at the dark outline of trees that could be seen towering above the castle gates.

"Did he die in The King's Forest?" Anne asked him. The Beast went very still before turning to look at her.

"The what?" He asked, his voice sharp.

Anne gulped, nervous, but raised one shaking arm to point to the windows and the general vicinity of the grounds beyond it. "The King's Forest," she repeated. "The woods just beyond your walls."

The Beast gave her a penetrating look, full of confusion and shock. It was so strange to gaze into those animal eyes and be able to discern human emotions. She felt like she had just unearthed an important secret. _Perhaps I have_, she thought. But the Beast was shaking his head.

"No. No he didn't die there." The Beast answered, his voice sounding tense. "What made you think he had?"

Anne shrugged. "They say a king died there years ago, murdered by a… something." She said, her voice halting on the last word. The Beast stared at her, his slitted eyes boring into her round ones, until she couldn't stand his gaze anymore and looked away.

"A something." The Beast repeated, not looking at her. "A monster you mean."

She shrugged again, blushing furiously. "It's just a story." She mumbled, wishing she hadn't brought it up.

"But every story has some truth to it," he countered. "The ones worth remembering at least."

"And is this a story worth remembering?" Anne asked, sure he would negate it.

"Yes." He replied, voice growing soft as he scratched on the windowsill with one sharp claw. "The story you heard isn't just a story. It's fact. A monster did kill a king in that forest. But neither the king, nor the monster, are the ones you're thinking of."

Frowning, Anne shook her head. "I don't understand." She said.

"Of course you don't." The Beast replied. His voice was no louder than before but Anne was suddenly aware of how much restraint he must have been using when he spoke to her before. Hearing it now she could hardly discern between the growl of his voice and the words he was speaking. The complete effect awoke some primal instinct deep inside her and she took an involuntary step backward, eyes skittering across the room to see what could be used as a weapon. But the Beast simply turned away from the window to face her completely and stepped forward to close the small distance Anne had just achieved.

"You know nothing about any of this and yet still you stand there, casting judgment. You pull up and dissect old memories that have no connection to you, you've all but openly accused me of murdering a long ago ruler whose character you are completely ignorant of. And what do you offer up as a basis for your conjectures and assumptions? The gossip and hearsay of people who know even less about the history of this place than you. I _have_ done wrong in my life but you have no right to add to my list of faults. "

A deep silence followed these words as both Anne and the Beast both stood facing each other like opponents in the ring. The wide eyed shock in Anne's eyes began to flicker and dim until it was completely overrun by anger.

"You're right. You're faults are so numerous to begin with that adding to them would probably only serve to confuse you further. It's true I know nothing about this place but that doesn't mean I know nothing at all." Anne said, beginning to pace in short lines in front of the Beast. "The only reason I theorize and suppose is because you never supply me with any actual facts. I've been given no answers as to why I'm here or what you plan to do with me. Do you know what it's like? To live in constant fear day after day, to be completely separated from everyone you care about? To know that, for the rest of your life, you'll be in a strange place with absolutely no hope of returning to the life you knew?"

"Yes." The Beast answered slowly, his face grim. "I do."

Stopping short Anne stared. "How? How could you know? Nobody forced you here."

"No. But somebody forced me away."

There was silence again while Anne tried to collect her thoughts. She couldn't decide whether to feel sorry for the Beast or angry at him. Both emotions kept crashing through her before drifting away again. "Just tell me why I'm here." Anne said, feeling exhausted and drained.

"I-," the Beast said, looking like he was at a loss for words.

"Yes?" She prompted, leaning forward slightly.

He sighed and, sounding as tired as Anne had, said. "I can't say."

Shoulders drooping Anne frowned, all trace of sympathy gone. "Fine." She said, throwing a hand out as if to wave his words away from her. "Keep your secrets. I don't know why I care anyway." She flinched a little as soon as the words left her mouth, knowing that they implied she _had_ cared what he would tell her. Turning away from him Anne walked to the door. "I'm going to bed." She said, refusing to look back. "Goodnight Beast."

"Goodnight Anne." He replied. But she had already left.

**A/N: Okay. Let me know what you think. Please review! (And thanks to everyone who has so far.) **


	19. A Forgotten Place

**A/N: Oh my goodness, 81 reviews. God you guys are great. I seriously cannot thank you enough for being that awesome. Special shoutout to… well all of you really. I so ridiculously excited when I hear from any of you. I hope I don't let you down! **

Chapter XIX- A Forgotten Place

_Caspar's Lullaby by James Horner_

Anne stared out at the gardens blooming in the sunlight as birds fluttered from tree to tree, chirping and squabbling with each other as they went. Once again, she was standing in the cluttered room from the previous night, except it wasn't the same room. The floor was clean and polished, without a trace of mess or dust to be seen. Books were no longer piled upon the now gleaming tables, but stacked neatly against shelving inlaid along the walls. The portraits remained, but were so vibrant and clear that it seemed less like looking at a painting and more like glimpsing through a portal to another world. Vaguely aware of another person in the room, Anne didn't move from her vantage point near the windows until she heard him speak.

"He doesn't mean it, you know."

Pivoting on her heel she turned to face him. The man was sitting on the edge of a table, hands in his lap, legs swinging to and fro as he watched her.

"Doesn't mean what?" Anne asked, not bothering to feign ignorance over who they were speaking of.

"To lose his temper, say the things he did." He answered, legs still moving back and forth like pendulums over the table's edge.

"I don't care if he didn't mean it." She said, walking towards him, arms crossed. "If I stole a horse but made sure to call back as I rode away: 'I didn't mean it', the horse doesn't become any less stolen."

"Oh and I suppose you've never done or said anything out of anger that you regretted later on." The man replied, eyebrows rising slightly as he crossed his arms in turn.

"That's different." She argued.

"Why?" He asked, his legs missing hers by inches when they moved. "Because he's a beast and you're a human?"

Anne knocked her foot against the man's and he went still. "It's because he's a kidnapper and I'm his hostage." Her shoulders sagged and all the anger in her face disappeared as she turned and sat down next to him. After a moment of hesitation the man placed his hand on her shoulder and gave it a small squeeze.

"He asks me to marry him." Anne said, staring into space, her voice very quiet. "Every night he asks me. Sometimes that's what scares me the most. What could he possibly gain from it?" She asked him.

"Perhaps…he loves you." The man answered, looking away from her.

Anne shook her head. "No. He doesn't. Of that I'm certain."

"How did you know?" The man asked, surprised. "I mean," he amended, looking slightly flustered. "How would you be able to tell?"

Anne, not appearing to notice the embarrassment on her companion's face, answered. "Because I've asked him."

"You have?" He said, confused.

"Every night," She said, sighing. "And every night he tells me he cannot say." Looking back she gave him a sad smile. "I don't have much experience with these things but I know that's not what you say to the person you want to marry, but the one you have to."

* * *

Anne avoided the Beast all throughout the next day. Keeping to the outside gardens seemed the best choice since she had never once seen him outside, but it also proved to be the most mundane. After a few hours of wandering the length and breadth of the grounds she was having trouble coming up with new ways to kill time. On a whim this morning she'd grabbed the little beetle the Beast had given her a few weeks before and was testing its accuracy and range with simple requests. After an hour of this, boredom increasing by the second, Anne said, in exasperation, "I wish you could find me something to do."

In an instant the little bug had left her palm and was flying out across the pathways, zigzagging between tree branches and statues. After a moment of shock, Anne lifted her skirts and raced after it. Gasping for breath she paused, turning this way and that to locate the insect, but it had disappeared from view. She almost fell backwards when it reappeared again, inches from her nose. Back and forth it went, from her to something that lay just around the bend of the castle. Walking forward, Anne peaked around the corner and saw the graying stone façade of the mausoleum.

"Well that certainly would be interesting." She agreed.

Tugging on the stone door's large metal handle Anne put a hand to her mouth as a wave of decades old air streamed out of the crypt. Sputtering a little she moved cautiously forward. A long set of marble stairs leading down into darkness was the only way to move forward. The little finder bug was floating next to her shoulder. Before she could change her mind Anne plucked it out of the air, placed it in her pocket and went inside, one hand trailing down the wall as she went.

Faster than Anne had anticipated she reached the last step and was surprised at the sight that met her there. _I really needed to stop making expectations about this place_, Anne thought, _They always seems to fall short_. The tombs, for example, were hardly what she had thought they would be. She had imagined darkness and crumbling masses littered in between cobwebs and dirt, and while there was some dust and a bit of trailing ivy on the ground it was hardly what she would describe as decrepit. What she saw was actually rather beautiful, in an ancient and ghostly sort of way. Huge pillars, intricately carved and as thick as tree trunks held up a vaulted ceiling that was just as elaborately designed. All the tombs were scattered throughout, as far down as she could see. It was clear, though, that they hadn't been organized haphazardly for all of them were covered in large, individual beams of sunlight. Looking up, Anne wondered how the architects had managed it. She finally decided it must have involved some sort of intricate arraignment of glass bouncing sunlight from a single source so that even on a cloudy day, like this one, light would still be able to stream through.

After an hour of walking, punctuated by many stops to examine a tomb here, a statue there, a crunching sound had started to fill her ears. Looking down, she saw that there were leaves scattered all over the floor. Some of them had even fallen onto a few of the surrounding tombs. And then, ahead of her, amidst all the silence and solemnity stood a tree. Not a grey decaying one like those that stood above her in the courtyard, but alive and, somehow, thriving in this lonely crypt. It was tall, but not so high that it pressed against the even taller ceiling. The trunk of it had sprouted up almost right underneath one of the graves, shielding its sleeping king from whatever sunlight would have otherwise fallen over it.

Moving forward, Anne inspected the tombs surrounding the tree when she suddenly noticed a familiar face. Shifting through the large mass of ivy that was growing around the base of the grave Anne stood over the effigy of the man she'd seen in the upstairs portrait. She still didn't like his face.

"So this was your family." She said to the carved face of the king. Wandering from tomb to tomb she examined the other graves. All the effigies she passed so far had carvings covering their bottom half, depicting talents, great deeds or important events in the lives of each ruler. These ones were no different, except one. It was the grave closest to the tree and it was completely blank. Circling the tomb she looked to see if there was anything to give a clue as to what sort of life this king might have had but there was nothing. The man's face was unsettling as well. She felt like she'd seen him before. But it wasn't only her sudden sense of déjà vu that bothered her. The other statues she encountered had been made to look as if their occupants were in a deep and peaceful sleep, resting easy among the catacombs. This man's eyes were wide open. Anne didn't know if it was the dim lighting or her own imagination but he looked almost…frightened, like he had been buried alive. Leaning forward to take a closer look Anne reached out a hand to touch the marble face before pulling away. A strange and terrible thought was forming in her head about where she had seen that face before.

"No." She said aloud. "It can't be."

But it was. She had never quite been able to remember the man's face when she awoke but seeing it before her now there was no doubt in her mind that now, lying in stone and dust, was the man she had dreamed about only the night before.

_I must be going mad._ She thought, putting a hand to her forehead. What did it mean, to dream of a dead man? It certainly couldn't be a good thing.

"I have to get out of here." Anne said aloud, her words echoing across the hall.

She began to turn away from the coffin, her stomach tightening at what she had just learned when she noticed her foot had somehow become tangled in a small mass of ivy stretching outward from the obnoxious king's grave. She attempted to use one booted foot to unhook the other from the tangle of leaves and thorns, but the more she tried to free herself the more complicated the knot became. Making an exasperated sound Anne went down on one knee and began the delicate process of freeing herself without pricking any fingers.

Suddenly a sharp pain in her other leg made her turn. Looking over her shoulder, Anne's eyes widened as she saw the plant's cords wrap tightly around her ankle. Before she could even think the thorn's sharp teeth had begun to wrap around her left wrist as well. Abruptly, and with great force, Anne's hand was ripped out from under her. Falling onto her stomach, the cool grey stones of the crypt pushed against her body, her right hand pinioned underneath her. Heart racing, Anne began to struggle and fight to get her legs and arm free from the vines and thorns that surrounded her. She felt the ivy around her right leg slacken a very little bit and she kicked out even harder. Her efforts were rewarded when the vines tightened around her ankle, even stronger than before. A horrible crack of breaking bone echoed to the ceiling before it was drowned out by a scream. By now, the thorns had wrapped around her arm completely and were beginning to snake across her back as well. Deep lashes ripped away the blue fabric of her gown and replaced it with the dark red color of her own blood. Crying, Anne knew that unless she did something soon she was going to die.

_I don't want to die. _She thought to herself while images of her parents and brother swept across her eyes. There was no hope now of seeing them again. She screamed in desperation , as loud as she could, hoping that by some miracle the Beast would hear her voice and save her. But she knew it was no use. The vines were tightening across her back. In a few moments she wouldn't be able to breath, let alone call for help. Would the Beast be able to find her body? She wondered. If he could find it would he bury her here, among all these stone monarchs and beams of light, or would he take her to her family? How would he even know where to look?

Suddenly a thought bloomed in her mind. Using the hand pinned under her, Anne pushed her body up a few inches causing the thorns already buried into her back to push deeper under the skin. She cried out but didn't stop herself. Inching her hand across to her left pocket she grabbed the tiny metal insect that the Beast had given to her. Pausing for a moment she took all her remaining strength and was able to release her arm from the vines. Flinging her hand out, she loosed the finder into the air. In the blink of an eye the vines swallowed up her hand and arm.

"Find the Beast." She pleaded to it. "Bring him here. Please find the Beast." She cried. The jeweled beetle hovered a moment, catching a few weak rays of sunlight before fluttering away. As if sensing that they had been tricked, the vines tightened around her whole body and Anne could do nothing but scream.

* * *

**A/N: Ah cliffhanger! *Maniacal laugh* More to come soon. I don't know why but I had trouble writing this chapter. I hope it doesn't show but if so feel free to PM me with suggestions or leave comments in the review section. You can always make a bad story good and a good story better so let me know! Also, pictures are being posted to a tumblr account that correspond to this story if you want to check them out. It's thestolenrose followed by . tumblr . com (remove spaces). **


	20. Broken

**A/N: Okay, ****major ****cliffhanger last time and I couldn't bear to leave you guys hanging for too long. Tell me anything you liked/disliked. Constructive criticism is always helpful! (Note to ****miasopapia****: thanks for your suggestion in the last chapter about the dialog. The more I think about it the more I don't like it either. Storing it away for future revisions!) **

Chapter XX- Broken

_Deep into the Forest by Michael Nyman_

Gregory sat in his rooms long after the day had begun, thinking about his argument with Anne and his dream of her the night before. He felt guilty for saying the things he had. She was right of course. It wasn't her fault she was being kept in the dark, it was his. He had considered telling her everything the night of her arrival, explaining to her who he really was and why he was forcing her to come here. But he'd stopped himself as soon as he saw her. Gregory could still remember what she looked like that first time, worry and fear covering her face as candlelight flickered across her eyes, her long straight hair, changing them from black to brown to black again, pale fingers twitching in her lap. Now, looking down at his own monstrous hand he felt the same rush of inadequacy and shame he'd felt that night. It was bad enough, taking advantage of her brother's mistake and using it against them both to hold her hostage but to do so as a beast, as a monster... He had hardly been able to face her, let alone explain the reason she was here.

That same guilt and self loathing were present every time they sat down to dinner. He could feel her gaze on him constantly, taking in his features; his awful bent body, his terrible slitted eyes. And then the silence would consume them both. He never knew what to say and she refused to participate beyond a few casual niceties. More than anything, Gregory hated proposing to her. Hearing his rough animal voice growl out the words every night was enough to set his teeth on edge. But it was the only way out, for both of them.

_Whatever you decide shutting yourself up in your room isn't helping matters any. _He thought, tapping a finger against his chest. Walking to the door, Gregory decided to find Anne. He needed to speak to her, apologize for the other night at least and maybe… maybe try - in some small way, to tell her the reasons behind his actions.

As he reached the first floor a buzzing sound met his ears. Looking around for the source his head turned just in time to avoid the small insect that went whizzing past his face. He watched as the bug skidded to a stop in midair before coming towards him once more, circling his head. A flash of color caught his eye and Gregory recognized it as one of his seekers.

"What's gotten into you?" He wondered aloud as it continued its frantic humming. As if in answer the beetle raced away. With a growing sense of anxiety, Gregory followed after the mechanical creature, his slow steps turning into an all out sprint as he fought to keep up with the insect. Chest heaving from exertion the beetle stopped in front of the mausoleum Gregory's family had been buried in. He hadn't visited the crypt in over a decade and sometimes even thought of removing the entrance entirely but now the door was open, allowing a chill air to seep out. Moving forward cautiously Gregory suddenly heard a far off cry that made his blood run colder than the air in the catacomb. He'd never heard a voice full of more pure and unadulterated fear before in his life.

"Anne." He whispered in horror. Gregory leapt down the stairs on four legs, not even hesitating long enough for the beetle to show him the way.

* * *

The vines were pressing down harder now. Sobs choked Anne's throat as her lungs strained to let out the air they were holding. Had it been minutes or hours since she'd sent the little finder away? It didn't matter. Her last hope was gone. She could feel death was close by; piercing her through with a thousand needles, crushing her from the outside in. The fingers of her right hand twitched slightly in a last futile attempt to get free but it was no use. With a final whimper Anne's body slumped and her eyes closed. One final breath pressed out past her lips, no longer red or pink, but pale blue from lack of air.

* * *

Gregory's heart beat so fast he thought it might burst. Adrenaline coursed through him as he pushed himself to move faster. He could no longer hear the screaming. He thought there couldn't be any sound in the world worse than the cries of terror he'd heard moments before but he was wrong. The terrible silence that followed, bearing down on him from all sides, was a thousand times worse. Finally Gregory skidded to a stop and looked in horror at the scene that met his eyes. There was Anne, bloody and still, lying face down on the ground. Cords of ivy wrapped across her back, arms, and legs. Even more were now starting to creep forward, intending, it seemed, to bury her completely.

"STOP." Gregory screamed. It came out in a roar. Without meaning to a blinding flash of magic leaped away from him. It felt like it had been ripped from the very marrow of his bones. For one brief instant a bright green light filled the entirety of the crypt before being ripped down into the vines. Everything froze, even the few leaves that had begun to quiver in a faint draft went still. Rushing forward, Gregory tore through the vines and thorns, which, even now, where crumbling to brown dust under his claws. Trying hard not to slash through skin or cause any more damage, Gregory was finally able to free her body. Carrying her away he walked a few yards away before sinking to the ground. She wasn't breathing.

"Wake up Anne." He said, chest heaving, voice filled with forced calm. "Wake up." He repeated shaking her slightly in his arms.

"Anne, please." He whispered, trying not to panic, his breath coming faster now. "Please. Please wake up." Gregory tasted salt on his tongue and realized he was crying. "You can't die. Please. Please don't die." He shook her again, harder this time. He saw her face as it was last night, framed by moonlight. Her chin raised, a look of anger and determination in her eyes as she argued with him. He remembered the things he'd said to her and turned his face away, unable to stare at her lifeless body for another moment. "Oh god, please don't let her die."

Suddenly there was movement in his arms and Gregory heard a small shuddering breath that wasn't his own. One previously limp hand was now gripping his shirtsleeve. Opening his eyes he saw Anne staring up at him.

"Beast," She said, sounding shocked.

"Anne." Gregory said, letting out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. Suddenly she was crying. Arms wrapping across his shoulders, she held him as tightly as he had been clutching her a few seconds before, tighter even. "You found me. I was so afraid. I was so afraid you wouldn't be able to. I thought I was going to… Oh god, I almost…" She didn't finished but instead grasped him tighter, sobbing into his chest.

"It's alright, Anne." Gregory said, one hand stroking her hair, the other wrapped around her back. "It's alright." He repeated, as much for his benefit as her own. "Nothing happened. Nothing was going to happen. You're fine. You're fine."

They sat together for a few moments. Gregory rocking back and forth as Anne's tears lessened until they were nothing more than short, shaky, breaths.

"If you hadn't come…" Anne said, pulling away from him to look into his face.

"If I hadn't come you would've found a way out on your own." Gregory said, forcing his voice to be steady. "I just helped speed things along a bit. Right?"

Anne nodded her head, looking like she wanted to believe the lie as much as he did. But her eyes were still full of worry and unshed tears. "Right."

"Good." Gregory said, trying not to remember how still she had been when he'd first seen her. "Now let's go inside." He added, repositioning Anne in his arms before slowly getting to his feet. "I don't know about you, but I don't like the feel of this place."

"What makes you say that?" Anne said, giving a shuddery laugh.

Gregory shrugged as much as he could without jostling her. "You know I can't quite put my finger on it. Just a feeling I suppose." He looked down and gave Anne a tiny smile. Noticing the crooked angle of her leg the smile was replaced with a frown and he looked away.

"It's broken. Isn't it?" Anne whispered, noticing the direction of his glance.

"Perhaps." Gregory said, trying not to panic. It had been years since he'd been taught how to set a broken bone of any kind. Looking ahead he decided to focus instead on getting them both back to the castle in one piece. The rest could wait until then.

Bringing Anne into the dining room Gregory hooked his foot around a chair leg and pulled it towards him before settling her gently down. Blood was on her face and arms but the cuts didn't seem to be too deep. There were just a lot of them. With a small flick of his fingers and wrist a round table appeared at his side. On it was a large glass bowl full of warm water, bandages, and a bottle of brandy.

"Now." Gregory said, pulling another chair away for himself and sitting down across from Anne. "Tell me Anne, what hurts most?"

"My leg." She answered with forced calm. "My leg and my back."

Gregory nodded, slowly lifted her right foot up onto his knee, and began removing the laces from her boot. Being as careful as possible he slid the shoe off and pulled away the stocking underneath to reveal Anne's ankle had swollen to twice its size and was turning a reddish purple color.

"Oh no." Anne moaned at the sight of her mangled leg.

"It's okay Anne. It's alright." He said quickly. Without thinking, he laid a hand on her bare knee. "Thousands of people have broken their legs and I've never heard of a single person dying from it."

Giving a watery smile Anne nodded and Gregory proceeded to bandage it up. "Couldn't you-" She stopped.

"Yes?" Gregory prompted. It made him feel horrible to see her so sad and worried, whatever she wanted he was willing to do,

"Well, you can do magic right? Couldn't you just… snap your fingers together and fix it?" She asked.

Gregory cocked his head to the side and stared at her ankle, considering. He had thought of doing this initially but he was afraid that if he did something even worse would happen and he would somehow end up crippling her permanently. "In theory, yes." He said slowly. "But I've never done anything like that before. And even if I had, it would've been with a piece of wood or a pane of glass, something I could discard if it wasn't repaired properly. I can't afford to do the same thing with you."

Anne nodded, biting her lower lip as Gregory finished wrapping her foot and ankle, careful not to let his claws scrape against her bare skin. "Are the bandages too tight?" He asked, inspecting his handiwork.

"No, no they feel fine." She said nodding. "Thank you."

Standing Gregory gently laid her foot down on the cushion and covered her leg with the tattered remains of her skirt. Walking over to stare at her back Gregory tried to ignore the way her fingers wrapped around the base of the chair when he came near her or how her shoulders tensed when he gathered her hair up in his hands before laying it down over her shoulder. Such thoughts were driven out of his head, though, when he saw the state of her back. The fabric of the dress was only being held together by threads in some places and her skin looked to be in the same damaged state. The cuts weren't cuts here but wounds, long gashes that slashed across her body. Blood was still oozing out of a few of them and he could see thorns stuck in some of the bigger lashes. Involuntarily, Gregory sucked in a quick breath between his clenched teeth.

Anne must have heard the noise. "What is it? Is it very bad?" She asked, voice shaking.

With a wave of his hand the tablecloth on the large dining table disappeared. "Anne I'm going to lay you on the table, alright?" He said, ignoring the question. "It will be easier for me to clean the cuts that way."

Turning her head to look at the table, then at him, she nodded and Gregory picked her up again and transferred her body to its worn wooden surface. Carefully, she shifted herself onto her stomach, her injured foot dangling off the side, face turned away from him. Standing on her left, a pair of glittering scissors appeared in his hand and he cut away what was left of the fabric covering the area. Waving his other hand the chandelier above them filled with light and a rattling sound filled the room as the fixture descended from its place on the ceiling, stopping a few feet above Gregory's head. The scissors in his hand were transformed into tweezers and Gregory leaned down to begin. But before he could Anne's voice whispered to him.

"Please," She said. "Please, tell me what you're going to do."

Choosing his words carefully, Gregory answered, "Some of the wounds have thorns stuck in them. I need to… extract the thorns before I bandage the cuts." What sounded like a muffled whimper escaped from Anne's mouth but all she did was nod. Straightening a little Gregory gave her shoulder a small squeeze. "Everything will be fine Anne. I promise." Another nod. Gregory worked mostly in silence, punctuated by a few soft gasps every now and then. Save for once. Pulling a particularly large thorn away Gregory started as Anne's voice echoed out across the room, her curses retreating into the walls until the air was still once more.

"Sorry." Anne said, sheepishly.

"That's alright." Gregory said, smiling a little as he cleaned some of the blood away. "I didn't think ladies knew those sorts of words."

"The ones with older brothers do." She said, turning her head to look at him, wincing and smiling at the same time.

Gregory didn't reply. He thought of his one encounter with that brother. Remembered the fierce, almost feral, way the man had fought and stood his ground when confronted with something as horrible and monstrous as himself. How willing, how completely ready, he had been to die for his sister. The same exact way she was for him. As Gregory continued to remove the thorns from Anne's back, sop away the excess blood, he began to wonder what would have happened if it had been Richard, not Thomas, who was being threatened by a monster. What if Gregory's life was the bargaining chip that ensured Richard would survive? What choice would his own brother have made? The fact that Gregory didn't know the answer, would never know it, was somehow worse than if he did. His brother had betrayed him yes, turned him into a monster and walked away without a second glance. But he hadn't killed him. That _was _something he had thought of, obsessed over, throughout the years. If all that power, all that authority a kingship promised had been so appealing to Richard that he was willing to commit treason against his own flesh and blood, why not take that next, final step? Why leave such a frayed thread hanging? Gregory knew what he wanted the answer to be, he just didn't know if it was the real one.

Coming back to the present, he pulled away the last of the thorns and began to work on sanitizing the wounds. Five of them would need stitches. As the utensils altered their shape in his hands Gregory explained what he was about to do.

"And…have you ever done this before?" Anne asked apprehensively. _No. _Gregory thought to himself. _Not for a very long time at least. Not at a moment when it really mattered._

"Oh hundreds of times." Gregory answered, trying to keep his voice light. "I could probably do it in my sleep if I wanted to. You know there was a single year when I did nothing but needlepoint?"

Anne, her face still turned towards his, smiled. "Needlepoint?" She said, eyebrows raised in disbelief, but willing to play along.

"Indeed." Gregory said, mock seriously as he threaded the needle and made the first incision. Anne's smile instantly disappeared and he saw her hands quickly clench themselves into fists.

"And not just needlepoint." He said, trying to distract her with more of his nonsense. "I've covered whole rooms with everything from cross-stitch to crochet."

Her smile returned briefly as he tied the thread off on one jagged wound before moving quickly onto the next one. "Even the walls?"

"Especially the walls."

"You know I've always wondered what one should cross-stitch onto a wall." She said, brow furrowed like she was straining to find an answer.

There was a moment of silence as he thought before the answer came to him. "Curse words."

Anne laughed, he didn't think he'd ever really heard her do that before. He thought about how nice it would be to hear that laugh again. "Yes, nothing says 'hospitality' quite like a slew of decorative profanities." She said as Gregory tied off the last of the stitches.

"My thoughts exactly." He replied. Removing the heavy cloak he'd been wearing Gregory used his claws to rip the sleeves away before draping it over Anne's bare back and shoulders. "There." He said as the folds of cloth settled into place around her. "You can get up now if you like."

* * *

Slowly Anne pushed her aching body upright with one hand, clutching the dark velvet cloak with the other. Alternating her grip on the fabric from one hand to the next, she maneuvered her arms through the frayed holes on either side of the cloak until everything was covered except her arms, bloody, bruised, and definitely worse for wear.

"Do you think I might have some of that?" She asked, nodding at the square bottle of brandy cluttered amongst bloody discarded cloths that she tried hard to ignore.

The Beast pulled a small tumbler from… was it thin air? Up his sleeve? Anne was too tired to pay attention. An ache was starting to expand out across her forehead and her mouth felt dry and thick at the same time. A part of her knew water would probably have been the wiser choice right now but she wanted the burn of alcohol, the warm seeping numbness it would fill her with. Not even the fountain of youth could compete with that. The Beast poured a glass without comment and handed it over to her before kneeling on the hard stone floor so that his head was level with her waist. The bloody cloths on the small table disappeared and were replaced with new ones. They smelled of soap and cold, winter air. Soaking one in water the Beast began to wipe away the dried blood and dirt from her arms and face, stopping every so often to bind up any still bleeding scrapes. She was getting used to his hands against her skin, getting used to all of him really.

"Where did you learn to do all this?" She asked.

The Beast glanced up at her. His hands still working to fix her up, make her whole again.

My father taught me some of it, others taught me more." He said, his voice growling out the words. "He had a kind heart, my father. He thought that if you were going to learn how to break something you should know how to fix it as well."

Swiping the cloth against her face one final time, the Beast threw it onto the small table with the rest of the supplies before making it all disappear. The only evidence left that anything unpleasant had occurred was now partially hidden from view by Anne's tattered skirts and the Beast's torn cloak.

"He would be ashamed of how I've acted with you." The Beast said with a sigh, rubbing a hand against his face before turning to sit a few feet away from her on the table. After a moment he continued, "Anne I've been thinking over what you said to me last night and I just wanted to say I'm sorry. It's not fair of me to keep you in the dark about the reasons I have you here, much less expect you to be content with no explanation whatsoever."

Anne held her breath, stomach tightening as she waited to see what his next words would be.

"I've been in this place for a long while now." The Beast said tonelessly, looking at the ground as he spoke. "And the longer I'm here the more I feel as if I'm in a state of war with myself. Because I'm not a person. And yet…a part of me is. I can think, speak, make things. But despite all of that, as hard as I try, I sometimes feel that human side of me slipping away." The Beast's voice was no longer calm and neutral anymore, but slow, worn out and shaking. Anne wondered how it would feel, to be so at odds with herself. To lay in bed each night, afraid to fall asleep because she might not even remember herself in the morning. The Beast was hunched over himself now, hands clenched together as if he were praying.

"I can't bear to think of what would happen when I lose that part of me completely. Because it would mean I was no longer… whatever this is." He continued, gesturing to himself. "I'd just be a monster- a monster living in a castle." He ran a hand over his face before turning to look at her. "But with you here," the Beast said, voice growing hopeful. "I feel as if… as if that human side of me has a chance now. With you here," he repeated, standing up and walking a few paces away from her. "Speaking isn't as much of a struggle as it used to be, I don't have to remind myself to walk on two legs instead of four. That's why I need you here Anne." He said, turning to look at her. "To remind me of myself. I know it's not enough. It doesn't explain everything. But-"

"It's enough." Anne interrupted.

"Is it?" The Beast asked, standing very still.

Anne drummed her fingers against the table. Thinking over all that he'd told her. "Yes." She replied, nodding. "For now, it's enough."

The Beast's shoulders relaxed and he looked as tired as she felt and for a few moments there was only silence in the room as they stared at one another. The Beast looked away first saying, "I'll help you upstairs, if you like. I don't think I know of anyone right now who probably needs rest more than you."

Anne nodded, smiling gratefully. "Yes, I don't think hopping would be such a good idea anyway." She joked.

"No. Probably not." He said as he walked towards her. Before he could lift her up though, Anne took one of his clawed hands in both of her own.

"Thank you." She said, abruptly, looking into his eyes. "I don't think I said that before, but thank you for saving me."

"You're welcome." He said, so close that she could hear his voice, like thunder, thrumming through her. She gave his hand a squeeze before letting go. Leaning forward the Beast carefully wrapped her into his arms, holding her tight as he walked up the stairs and into her room. After lowering her gently into bed he reached into his pocket to deposit her small mechanical beetle on the nightstand beside her.

"If you need anything just send it off to find me. I think we can trust it to work fast enough." The Beast said, smiling a little.

Laughing Anne nodded and the Beast walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

As Anne drifted off to sleep, the Beast's cloak filling her nose with the smell of soap and cold, winter air, her last thought was of broken things_. The_ _Beast is broken. _A voice murmured into her ear. _What could I do to fix him?_

* * *

The setting sun found Gregory standing in front of his family's crypt, the light casting the bone white stones in hues of red and pink. Holding out a hand a green light sparked as he ran it across the door frame. As he watched, the handle and door disappeared completely until he was staring at a flat expanse of marble wall. "I won't let you hurt her Richard." He said, walking away from the structure as the sun slid down beneath the horizon. "Not again."

Inside the crypt the ivy slowly slid out across the floor, twisting itself across Gregory's own grave before rising up and taking root in the large tree above, threatening to envelop it completely.

* * *

**A/N: So I hope no one had any qualms about Anne being in a sort of "damsel in distress" situation. I know some people dislike that in books, think it's unrealistic or something. But I feel like it's equally unrealistic to have a character that never needs any help at all. It also gave me a chance to toy with Gregory's role in the story too. I think it's difficult for him especially b/c he used to be the "knight in shining armor", being a king and all, but he's since been reduced to playing the evil dragon. Anne definitely sees him as the villain and I think a part of him was starting to view himself as one too. So this whole scene is about Anne's viewpoint on Gregory changing and giving Gregory hope that he isn't really the villain of the story. **

**I wanted to keep the conversation in these scenes fairly light as opposed to being too romantic. I feel like these two are still in the early stages of getting to know one another. Having them constantly looking with passion and longing into each other's eyes or whatever would be rushing all that a bit. My idea of Gregory is that he used to be a really lighthearted, mischievous type when he was younger but everything he's gone through has buried that part of him away. Now, with Anne here, it's sort of resurfacing again. I hope that was conveyed well enough in the writing. I hate it when the "Beast" character is constantly gloomy and depressed so I figured why not change it? All this first aid stuff was originally supposed to happen when Anne was asleep and she'd wake up afterwards but I felt **_**this**_** way gave them both a longer opportunity to talk, also (contrary to Hollywood's take on how being unconscious works) being out for hours like that usually means brain damage and Anne's been through enough without that, don't you think?**

**Speaking of first aid… Watched a lot of suture tutorials to help me figure out how Gregory might be able to stitch Anne up without making a mess of it with his animal claws. If you've ever had stitches done or seen someone do them you'll know that doctors pretty much use two sets of tweezers in both hands to do all the stitching and knotting, not their hands. Know from personal experience what it looks (and feels) like to break a leg so that part was easy. Just in case anyone was wondering. **


	21. Lost in Thought

**Chapter XXI- Lost in Thought**

_Race to Resting Rock by James Newton Howard_

Gregory woke early the next morning. Winter had finally descended around the castle and his breath steamed out before him like smoke from a dragon as he wandered the grounds, marveling at its deathly stillness. He hadn't been outside for quite some time, preferring to wander the straight and orderly halls of the castle over the overgrown wilderness of the lands outside it. They reminded him too much of his old life during those first years of the curse, and all the years after that. Living in the forest, scrounging for food, hunting wild beasts to say alive, days of blood and dirt punctuated by only short moments of humanity, brief spasms of consciousness that reminded him of his insanity…

He laid a hand against the bark of one of the many warped and graying trees littered across the grounds. He couldn't get caught up in the past. It wouldn't do any good.

_You didn't come out here to mope and feel sorry for yourself, did you? No. Focus. _

He began to walk more deliberately, inspecting each tree for signs of less progressive decay, wood that hadn't begun rotting yet. Finally, he found one, close to the edge of the property that looked more alive than the others. The color wasn't as dull as the rest and the bark on its trunk didn't seem to tear away from the base quite as easily as some did.

_It'll have to do_. He thought to himself.

Briefly, he considered the idea of venturing out beyond the gates to find what he was looking for, but quickly decided against it. He had already wasted enough time mooning about and the job wasn't even half done. A voice told him that this wasn't the only reason, or even the real one. That a lack of time wasn't what kept him behind the large twisting gates, but a lack of courage. A fear that, if he did leave these grounds, this castle, his animal instincts would rear up beyond control and he would be lost. An animal - in both mind and body. He'd come close, dangerously close, to that fate a few times before returning to his home. It was a risk he couldn't take, especially with Anne here. Anne. Her name brought him suddenly back to the present and he again focused his attention on the chosen tree. Picking the branch he wanted, a strong thick piece of wood far from the ground, Gregory concentrated until there was a creaking sound followed swiftly by a resounding thud as the bough cut neatly away from its trunk and landed close by. Turning around he walked back the way he'd come, heading to the rather extensive forge situated a little apart and to the right from the main building of the castle. Behind him, the large branch rose up in the air and followed after him like an obedient dog.

After a few hours of hacking, sawing, and scraping the bough was beginning to take on the desired shape. Gregory wiped a hand across his forehead. He knew that he could be finished at this very moment with a quick snap of his fingers or wave of the hand but he liked doing these sorts of things the old fashioned way, at least partly. It helped pass the time and didn't feel so much like cheating as it might have otherwise. Indeed it was the main reason he'd been able to retain his sanity for so long. Working with his hands, animal though they were, kept his mind on a task instead of the long stretch of eternity that seemed to be laid out before him.

It was well after midday when the pieces had finally been sanded down and measured to, what he hoped, was the correct length. Looking at the sun overhead Gregory suddenly realized how late it was. Waving a hand, he sensed the food in the dining room disappear and redeposit itself within Anne's bedroom. When she first came he had waited for her every morning and afternoon; hoping that she might chose to come downstairs to dine with him at meals besides the dinners they shared, but she never did. He thought back to their conversation the night before, the way she had touched his hand, enfolded it within her own. _Perhaps_, he thought tentatively as he carved and shaped the wood, _that will change now._

* * *

Anne woke up in the morning, sore all over. Her clothes rubbed against her skin every time she moved, making her gown feel more like coarse sand rather than cool satin. Propping herself up on her elbows she began the arduous task of undressing. It was somewhat hard to believe that she had always used so many muscles for such a simple job. The fact that they were all moaning protests at once was equally inconceivable. She discarded each article of clothing into a heap near her bed, except for the cloak the Beast had lent her, that she folded neatly and laid on top of her pillow.

Free from her crinkled, slept in garments, Anne gingerly set her left foot on the floor, using the bedpost for support in lieu of her injured right leg. Carrying herself from post to table, table to wall, she slowly made her way towards the washroom but stopped suddenly when she spotted her reflection in the huge mirror that stood between her bed and the bathroom. Short cuts flecked across her face in random places. The left side had mostly gone unharmed but there was a very large cut across her forehead and another that reached from the bottom of her lip to the top of her right cheek that would be protesting every time she smiled or spoke for the next few weeks.

_Not that I feel like smiling anytime soon. _She thought to herself. But all thoughts of her face- or the potential scarring that might come later-flooded away when she caught sight of the deep lacerations that crisscrossed the skin of her back. It looked like she had been whipped. And the small areas that remained unbroken were instead spotted with ugly bruises, shifting in color from dark black and purple to a sickly greenish yellow. Balancing her hand on the mirror for support, her mouth turned down in concern, she moved forward for a closer look. There wasn't any sign of infection, thanks in large part, she knew, to the Beast's handiwork. Neat little stitches pulled the skin together on each wound and she wondered how he'd managed it with those large claws. Claws, she remembered, that hadn't caused even the thinnest slice as he'd handled her numerous injuries. Remembered to, the way his large hand had felt resting in hers, heavy and warm. Though the skin of his palm did resemble leather more in texture, it had also felt more like a human hand than she would have thought it could. She gave herself a little shake, what did it matter what his hand felt like? He'd helped her and she was grateful to him. Coming back to the present Anne realized she'd been standing, naked, in front of the mirror, her broken foot still hanging in the air, for longer than was becoming comfortable. Hobbling the rest of the way to the washroom, she let out a cry of relief to see that there was a steaming bath already waiting for her. Anne eyed the crystalline water, bits of warm air rising up to curl invitingly around her face. She wished she could sink down into the bath and let the warm liquid envelope her completely. But she knew that she couldn't risk ruining the stitching that was holding her together... everywhere it seemed. So instead, slowly and carefully, she sat on the bath rim, and immersed her uninjured leg in the water before proceeding to sponge herself clean. Leaving the bath proved to be even harder and she nearly broke her other leg as she attempted to maintain her balance and dry off at the same time.

Sitting in one of the large armchairs afterwards Anne poured herself a cup of warm, creamy tea from the large silver tray she had found nearby and stared off into space as the gold and glass clock above the mantle ticked the minutes by. Its swinging pendulum reminded her of the man in her dreams, legs moving to and fro as he spoke with her. She hadn't dreamed of him the night before and that was a relief. She didn't want to think of him, now or ever again, but with very little within her room to serve as a distraction, and no feasible way to go elsewhere, think of him she did. He was unsettling. He didn't operate in the same vague, haphazard way others did in her dreams. There was method and clarity in his actions. Usually, her dreams were filled with bits and pieces all sewn together in a random selection of faces and actions to create a half made quilt of thoughts and emotions. But not with him. Landscapes didn't change when he was around, conversations never randomly switched topics. And he was the only one she ever saw. It didn't make sense. Well_, no surprise there_, she thought to herself, _have you encountered anything here so far that did?_ But these strange dreams that didn't seem like dreams, even more so, because they were happening inside her own head. The one place she thought she was still safe. It made Anne's stomach tighten to image that someone, even a dead man- _especially_ a dead man, had been able to invade her mind like that. She resolved to not let it happen again. If she had somehow let him in then it stood to reason that he could be kept out as well. It was all a matter of willpower and Lord knew she had that in spades.

The same could not be said for the Beast though. Thinking back to their encounter last night, she felt like she'd gotten it wrong somehow, gotten him wrong. Ever since coming here Anne had been working under the impression that he was an empty hearted monster, a dragon who needed slaying, a villain to be defeated. But that image was starting to fit him less and less- those brief glimpses he'd shown her of his memories and fears, the way he'd saved her life- they were all too much to ignore. It wasn't that she felt obligated to see him in a new light because of what he'd done. She just couldn't help herself. It was the difference between seeing the stretched shadow of something and seeing the actual object. Once you had the reality, it was hard to go back to the fantasy. She still wanted to go home; there was no doubt of that. If the chance was ever given to her she'd be gone in an instant. But it gave her hope that this whole empty stone wasteland wouldn't get the best of her in the end.

Time passed. The grey daylight that seeped through the thick winter sky disappeared and was replaced with a charcoal night. The clock continued to tick off the time, chiming down each hour as Anne's mind ran away from her, switching between thoughts of her family, the dead man, and the Beast; each one continuously pushing forward then falling back, like sprinters in a race that wouldn't end. Hours passed like this, with Anne slipping out of the real world and letting her thoughts take over as her eyes stared blankly into the dimming flames. A knock at the door broke the spell. Sitting up a little straighter Anne winced as her bones creaked and cracked in place. For a moment she forgot about her injured leg and hissed out a breath when weight was put on it. After a few softly worded curses she called out, "Come in." and the Beast opened the door.

* * *

**A/N: Hello? Is anyone still reading this? My god, if you are you deserve a medal. I should travel, on foot, to wherever you are and give you a hug because... honestly? Four years? That's really pushing it on a hiatus. I'm really going to try to be better about updating though. Because I hate to leave you all hanging. I know what will happen story-wise, it's just getting it down that's hard. But if you ARE still here and don't despise me TOO much please send a review my way and let me know what you think. (Post a review even if you despise me) :) **


	22. Some Fresh Air

Chapter 22- Some Fresh Air

_Road to Perdition by Thomas Newman_

Neither Anne, nor any surrounding forces, had lit the wall sconces in preparation for the darkness that had already arrived. The blaze in the hearth had slowly begun to weaken over the long hours and now only the smallest bit of light touched Anne's face while simultaneously causing the Beast's eyes to gleam with fire. Both individuals appeared as if they had seeped into being from the intangible shadows and were now only pretending to occupy time and space.

"Hello Anne" The Beast said. His voice was muffled and low and sounded like it was being heard through a thin wall.

"Hello." Anne replied, rising to stand next to the armchair and leaning her weight against it.

"How are you feeling?" The Beast asked, still not moving from his post by the door.

Anne shrugged one shoulder. "Not too bad. Better than yesterday at least." She said, her laugh dry.

"I'm sorry you were cooped up in here all day." He replied, taking a few steps forward, the shadows on his face thrown into more stark relief.

Anne shrugged again. "It's alright. I'm getting used to it."

The Beast lowered his head and looked away, dismay written on his features. Realizing what she'd said a split second after the words left her mouth, Anne's smile disappeared. "Being alone during the day I mean." She elaborated quickly. "Not-"

The Beast held up a hand. "I understand."

Silence again. She was becoming so sick of that confounded silence. Grating against her ears the way it did made it the most uncomfortable sound in the world. Tilting her head, Anne suddenly noticed the Beast, like herself, was leaning against something. A tall rectangular something, made of wood.

"What is that? In the case?"

"My reason for coming up." The Beast replied, lifting the box and holding it in front of himself with both hands. It was a long parcel, brass clasps posted on both sides and a matching handle in between. "Can I…" The Beast said, gesturing towards the center of the room, closer to Anne.

She nodded, shifting her weight forward until she kneeling on the chair's cushion. Kneeling himself, the Beast set the parcel down at her feet before unclasping it for her.

Anne let out a small gasp of surprise, whatever she had been expecting was not in the box.

"I hope they're to size." He said, handing a crutch over to her. "Let me know if they need to be adjusted."

Anne gripped the light grey-ish wood, feeling the smoothness of it. A thick dark green colored cloth had been added to the handles and top to provide extra padding for her hands and underarms. Bracing her weight against it, Anne moved forward, her injured leg bent away from the floor.

"What do you think?" He asked. "Will they do?"

"They'll do extremely well." She said, turning to accept the other crutch before testing her newfound mobility more fully. "It was only a day and I already felt like climbing the walls." Slowly, she made her way to the still open doorway and out to the hall beyond.

"Where are you going?" She heard the Beast call after her.

"Anywhere but here!" She replied lightly, stopping for a moment at the doorpost to look back at him and adjust the handle on her crutches. "You'd better hurry," she added, feeling giddy at the sudden opportunity to actually move_ beyond_ the stilted boundaries of her bedroom, "or you'll never catch up to me."

* * *

Gregory gave out a bark of laughter, the first in over a decade, and followed after her. If he wasn't worried about falling behind he should have been. By the time he reached the place she'd been a moment ago she was already halfway down the hall, the soft tapping sound of her crutches against the floor growing fainter by the second. Laughing again at her determination, he set off at a brisk pace. He caught up to her just as she turned the corner.

" And where, might I ask, are we going, exactly?"

"That," Anne said, a little breathlessly, "is a good question. What do you think? Where shall we go?"

Gregory didn't have to think long about his answer. "This way." He replied, taking the lead.

* * *

Turning left, then right, he led Anne to a large set of intricately carved double doors. Opening one they walked together down a long hallway covered in shelves of dark wood that reached from her waist to a ceiling taller even than the Beast. Each one was filled to bursting with reading materials. As they walked, one could see cabinets containing precious documents sealed behind a layer of protective glass interspersed between the shelving. Anne knew this room, had been inside it already from her hours of constant exploration, and as she walked a sinking feeling began to grow inside her, like rocks filling her stomach. She wished he'd chosen a different place.

The end of the hallway opened out into a huge rotunda filled with tables and illuminated texts laid out on pristine stands. It was the epicenter of the library and hallways identical to the one they had entered through led out to what Anne knew where larger areas that were themselves filled with books and staircases leading up to higher levels and even more books. Between the hallways were large alcoves in which full sized statues of the muses had been placed, objects strewn at their feet or held in their hands to signify the identity of each one.

Though her desire to leave was no less intense, her apprehension was countered slightly by the library's overwhelming elegance. Whoever had designed the area had done so with supreme care and appreciation for its contents.

The Beast saw the look of admiration on her face and said, "I know. No matter how many times I come here I can never seem to get over how grand it all is."

"Do you come here often?" She asked.

"Not so much anymore. But I used to spend hours and hours between the shelves. You know how it is. You open a book and it's mid-day. You close it and it's midnight."

"Why did you stop?" Anne asked, moving forward on her crutches to look more closely at the vibrant colors of an illustrated page. "Coming I mean."

The Beast shrugged. "There's only so many times you can read a book before you can recite it verbatim. "

Anne turned to look at him, eyes wide. "You've read them _all_?" She asked, stunned.

"Not _all_." He said, sounding embarrassed by her obvious astonishment. "Fiction was never my favorite and I could never quite grasp languages as much as I should have so the foreign ones always left me confused and frustrated over my own stupidity. But the rest have definitely been put to use. Even if it was just once."

Anne looked around her in disbelief. "You must be a walking book yourself by now."

The Beast shrugged, smiling. "Well I certainly know more than I used to. What about you? Which ones are your favorite? I can almost guarantee they're here."

Her gaze fell across one of the muses carved in marble. One hand of the statue held a writing tablet while the fingers of the other hand delicately grasped a long stylus. Her face was turned slightly upwards, as if she were lost in thought; thinking of what to write next.

"Anne?" The Beast prompted.

"The... the old epics I suppose." She said, turning away from the statue, smiling. "Odysseus, the Trojan War, Hector and the rest."

"Those will be further up." He said, motioning towards the upper levels. "I could bring them down for you if you like." He added, taking a few steps forward towards an adjoining hallway.

"No." Anne said, holding a hand up to stop him, and almost losing a crutch in the process. "Don't trouble yourself. The books aren't going anywhere. And... I'm feeling a bit tired anyway. Do you think we could go back now?"

"Of course." The Beast said, moving away to let her take the lead back through the doorway and out into the main hall. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kept you this long."

"That's alright. It was nice to get a little air. Even if it was just around the corner. And thank you again for the crutches. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

"It was no trouble. I was happy to do it. Do let me know if you need anything."

She nodded.

"Goodnight Anne."

"Goodnight Beast."

**A/N: A little bit shorter chapter. But less wait time in between! So that's good. We'll get more library stuff in the chapters to follow so I hope you liked it. Please review either way! And to all the people who reviewed/favorited/liked/followed last time: My goodness you are all fantastic. I was smiling so much my cheeks were sore :) (mirror-owl: I loved your lengthy review! keep em coming. yes, so many questions... i wonder what the answers will be? hmmm...lol) **


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